


Someone to Fly Home To

by kingsofeverything



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, American AU, Baptism, Based on a tumblr drabble I wrote, Cheating, Divorce, Divorced Harry Styles, Divorced Louis Tomlinson, Exes, Exes to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Gratuitous use of Oops! and Hi!, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Italy, M/M, Not between between Louis & Harry, Older Harry, Older Harry Styles, Older Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Older Louis, Older Louis Tomlinson, Pilot Louis Tomlinson, Post-Divorce, Professor Harry Styles, Roma | Rome, Set in the southeast US, Silver Fox Louis Tomlinson, Skiing, Smut, Teacher Harry, Teacher Harry Styles, They are in their 50s, Travel, Weddings, again not between Louis and Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24463198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsofeverything/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: Louis. 55 year old pilot who wants someone to fly home to.Harry swipes right.•  •  •Louis and Harry’s marriage ended more than a decade ago, but fate keeps bringing them back together.
Relationships: Endgame Larry - Relationship, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s), Those pairings are brief
Comments: 119
Kudos: 551





	Someone to Fly Home To

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Thanks to the Stitch & Bitch chat for so much help with the part of this fic that takes place in Italy! Thank you especially to @somethingwittyorother for reading over that part of the fic :D
> 
> Also, thanks to anyone who read the little 2k bit of this that I posted on Tumblr and encouraged me to make it a whole fic. I really didn't think I had more than 2k to write about it, but I was wrong!
> 
> Thank you, as always, to Nic @louandhazaf for being amazing and for everything! I LOVE YOU!
> 
> [The idea for this fic all stemmed from this Tumblr post :D](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/612229588617232384/spicy-vagina-tacos-spicy-vagina-tacos-if-your)
> 
> **If you’d like to translate any of my fics, feel free, but please post the translation on ao3.**  
>    
> **Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites.**  
> 

●▬●▬●

Harry leans his forehead against the thick glass window, peering into the nursery, trying to figure out which one of the babies is his. He just saw her up close and held her a few moments ago, but babies sort of all look the same when they’re first hatched. An infant near the window begins to cry in the way that only brand new babies do, and a nurse picks them up, carrying the baby away. 

“Dad,” Jacob says, and Harry pulls away from the window to look at his son. Clearly exhausted after his wife’s long labor, his chestnut hair is tousled and there are circles beneath his blue eyes. They may not share DNA, but the resemblance to Louis is uncanny. Jacob points to the sleeping baby on the far side of the row of infant bassinets. “That’s her.”

“Oh. She looked different close up,” Harry whispers, and Jacob snorts. 

They watch for a few more minutes, and then Jacob says, “Pop’s coming.”

“Is he here?” Harry asks before he can stop himself. He wasn’t expecting to see Louis on a Tuesday. He’s always flown on Tuesdays. 

“Not yet. Flying in. He’s planning to take a cab from the airport,” Jacob says, tacking on, “Unless you want to pick him up.”

Harry manages not to break his neck when he whips his head around. “I don't think so.”

Jacob sighs. “I don’t know what it is with you two. You did fine co-parenting me and Penny after the divorce.”

“It’s complicated,” Harry says, following Jacob to the end of the maternity ward. “I’ll stop by again tomorrow, okay?”

“We’ll be here,” Jacob says, “Thanks for coming on short notice.”

“Please. Like I’d be anywhere else. My first grandchild.” Harry grins, pulling Jacob into a hug. “Let me know if I can do anything. Bring you food or  _ anything,  _ okay?”

“Sure thing, Dad. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you. Tell Clara the same. And the baby,” Harry says, hesitating and biting his lip. “Anna. Tell her I love her too.”

●▬●▬●

When Jacob called that evening to tell him that Clara was in labor and that they were on their way to the hospital two weeks early, Harry threw some clothes in a bag, threw his bag in his car, and drove the two and a half hours from Richmond to Raleigh without a second thought. At the first rest stop he came to, he sent an email out to his students, cancelling the next day’s classes. Unfortunately, he really can’t cancel two days in a row. 

Normally, when he visits, he stays at Jacob and Clara’s house, but with the baby, it’s probably best if he keeps out of the way. There’s a decent hotel not far from the hospital, with a nice restaurant and bar, and he figures he might as well splurge. He never goes anywhere, really, and hasn’t taken a vacation—other than to Raleigh to visit Jacob and Clara or to Colorado to visit Penelope and her girlfriend Tara—in years. 

He books a room with a king bed and a spa tub, making a dinner reservation for the restaurant and specially requesting a table by the window, before heading up to take a bubble bath and hopefully soak some of his sorrow away. 

All of the important events in his children’s lives have been tainted, just slightly, by the presence of his ex-husband. Not that Louis has actually done anything to make him uncomfortable. Harry doesn’t need help with that. Because every time he sees his ex, he’s reminded that Louis has moved on. And that, despite being the one who initiated their split, Harry never has. He’s dated, sure, but nothing’s lasted. 

Harry sighs, stepping out of the bubble bath and rinsing quickly in the shower. Soaking in the tub did nothing to improve his mood. At least he remembered to pack a nice sweater and his favorite wide-leg jeans. He pulls the soft red v-neck over his head and double checks that he has his room key before taking the elevator down to the second floor. 

The restaurant is small, with only a few tables, but thankfully it’s not busy, so Harry doesn’t feel bad for taking up one of the nicer spots. The host shows Harry to the small table by the window, and leaves him with the menu and wine list. Outside, snow has started to fall, and Harry leans his elbow on the windowsill, watching the flakes hit the ground and disappear, wondering if it’ll get cold enough tonight for the snow to stick. 

After debating over his choices for a moment, Harry orders the salmon. He’s down to the last few sips of his second glass of wine when he realizes he missed lunch, and that he should probably slow down or he’ll be drunk before he finishes his salad. Instead of slowing down, he tips the rest of the glass into his mouth, almost choking when he sees his ex-husband at the front of the restaurant, talking to the host. 

Sputtering and swallowing, Harry’s face flushes even hotter; it was already warm from the wine. Louis looks up, meeting Harry's gaze, eyes going wide as he seems to take in the small table set for one and the empty space across from Harry. Unsure of how to react, and a little bit drunk, Harry stares at him, notices he’s staring, and drops his chin, frowning at the few leaves of lettuce on his mostly empty salad plate. 

“Um… I don’t… Maybe I should order something to go,” Louis says, and Harry looks up again. He’s speaking to the host who’s trying to seat him by the window two tables over from Harry. 

Harry sighs, reaching for his now empty wine glass. “Louis… Don’t do that.”

“I’m not going to sit here,” Louis says, waving his hand over the table, and turning to the confused host. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Harry says, and encouraged by the alcohol in his veins, he pushes the chair opposite him away from the table with his foot. “Sit here.”

“What?” Louis asks, though Harry knows he understood the offer. 

“We can have a meal together, can’t we?” As soon as he says the words, he remembers the last time they sat down at the same table to have dinner together after Penelope’s graduation, and Louis introduced him to his  _ fiance.  _ Knowing they broke up before going through with the wedding hasn’t taken away the sting. Or the feeling of being replaceable.

“Yeah, I think so,” Louis says, sitting and pulling his chair up to the table. 

“Sirs?” the host looks from Harry to Louis and back again.

“Oh! Can you ask them to hold my meal?” Harry pushes his empty wine glass to the edge of the table. “No big deal if they can’t. If it’s done already, they can bring it out, but if not, can they send it out with his?”

Louis clears his throat, shifting in his chair. “I’ll have whatever he ordered. Skip the salad. And a bottle of the same wine.”

“Yes, sir. It’ll be right out,” the host says, and walks over to the bar. 

While Louis turns his head to watch the host, Harry takes the opportunity to watch Louis. Except for the few publicly viewable profile pictures on Facebook, which no one will ever know he’s seen, he hasn’t seen him in years. Undeniably, he’s gorgeous, but with a head full of light grey hair, he’s the definition of a silver fox, and Harry instinctively combs his fingers through his own thinning salt and pepper curls. 

“So… What am I eating?” Louis asks, and Harry clears his throat, reaching for his empty wine glass again.

Tapping his fingers against the side of the glass, Harry says, “Salmon. Rice. I don’t remember the vegetable.”

“Okay. Just wanted to be prepared, in case it was something weird.”

Harry ignores the implication that he would order something weird. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to meet our granddaughter,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes as if trying to gauge how much wine Harry’s had.

“I meant here at this hotel.” 

“Oh, um, the airline isn’t paying and I had some points.” Louis leans back when the server appears with their bottle of wine and fresh glasses. “You can just pour it. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Harry rolls his eyes, waiting for the server to open the bottle, then he accepts the glass of wine and takes a long sip. After she fills Louis’ glass, and walks away, Harry asks, “Did you see her?”

“Anna?” Louis smiles, wrinkles beside his eyes deepening. “Yeah. Came here to get a room, showered the plane off, and went right over. She’s amazing.”

“She’s beautiful,” Harry says, and Louis scoffs. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Shaking his head, Louis says, “How many times did you tell me not to compliment our kids on their looks?”

“She’s an infant, Louis. She can’t understand.” When their kids were small, Harry would encourage Louis to compliment them on their reading or their art instead of calling them ‘the most beautiful children in the world’ and going on about how wonderful they were. Which they are, both wonderful and beautiful, but his point remains. 

“Penny was one and Jacob was two when we adopted them,” Louis says matter of factly, as if Harry doesn’t know the ages of his own children when they brought them home. 

“It sets a precedent. And besides, I’m her grandpa. I can do what I want.”

“Right,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Well, you’re not wrong. She’s beautiful.” 

“It’s funny how—” Harry stops himself. It’s funny that Anna looks so much like Jacob, who looks so much like Louis. Her eyes are the exact same shape, her lashes long like his. But there’s no need for him to explain away his sudden silence when their food arrives. “That was fast.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry, and thanks the server. When she walks away, he says, “Think maybe they switched mine out with that guy’s.”

“What guy?” Harry asks, starting to turn and check behind him.

“Don’t look,” Louis hisses, but when Harry sits forward and meets his eyes, Louis is hiding a smirk.

Rather than let Louis know he’s annoyed him, Harry says, “Anna’s a great name, don’t you think?”

Nodding, with his mouth full of salmon, Louis hums, then swallows and takes a sip of wine. “Jacob said—”

“I know, Lou,” Harry says, wondering if Louis thinks their kids don’t tell him anything. “I was at the hospital before you, and he told me. Not that I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out on my own. It’s a lovely tribute to both of his grandmothers.”

“Do you remember when we first brought them home and—”

“And your mom thanked us for not naming Penny after her,” Harry finishes. It was when he knew they’d made the right decision, after arguing for weeks over if their baby girl’s middle name should be Johanna or Anne, and whose mother might be offended if their name wasn’t chosen. Finally, they’d thrown it all out the window and gone with middle names for both children that didn’t already belong to anyone they knew, and that went well with the first names they already had. It was the only way they could agree that no one’s feelings would be hurt.

“Don’t know why we didn’t think of Anna as a name, it’s the perfect combination,” Louis says.

“Too busy arguing about something else, probably,” Harry says, remembering how on edge they both were throughout the entire adoption process. 

“We didn’t fight so much,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “Back then, anyway.”

“True,” Harry says, picking at his salmon. He forces himself to swallow a bite, to sip some wine, and to eat more. 

They really didn’t fight a lot back then. Before the kids, when it was just the two of them, they hardly argued at all, and after the kids came, their disagreements weren’t terrible. It was more noncommunication than miscommunication, and it gradually built up until Harry couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes he wonders if he should've tried harder to fix things.

For a dinner with his ex-husband, it’s not awful. They chat about safe subjects: their kids and their new granddaughter. By the time Harry cleans his plate, he’s had four large glasses of wine, and is feeling more than a little tipsy, but he keeps that to himself and tries his best to seem sober. 

The server clears their dishes, and offers them dessert, but before Harry can say no, Louis pipes up and asks, “Do you have carrot cake?” 

“Yes, sir,” she says with a practiced smile. “Would you like a slice?”

“You want it?” Louis asks, grinning at Harry. “It’s your birthday.”

Harry nods, and when the server leaves their table, he says, “It’s not my birthday.”

“Close enough,” Louis says with a shrug, finishing his wine. 

Pouting a little, Harry admits, “I really wanted Anna to be born on my birthday.”

“Figured,” Louis says, and before Harry can get mad at his assumption, he adds, “It’s close though. Early birthday gift for you, right? What better present than your first grandchild?”

“I love her,” Harry whispers, thinking of how far away he already is, living in Richmond when Jacob and Clara and Anna are in Raleigh, and how much further away he’ll be once he moves to Atlanta. 

Leaning across the table, Louis whispers back, “Me too.”

The carrot cake arrives, coated in sugary cream cheese frosting, with a single lit candle in the middle. Their server sets it down on the table, along with two small plates and dessert forks. She looks from Louis to Harry and back before placing the check on Louis’ side of the table.

“I’ll take that when you’re ready,” she says, and disappears. 

Louis pulls out his wallet, and Harry does too, insisting, “I’ll pay for mine.”

“We can split it down the middle, if you want,” Louis says. “Make it easier for her.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, taking a bite of cake. It’s so good, he can’t control the quiet moan that slips out when the flavors meld on his tongue. He won’t have cake on his actual birthday, unless he decides to bake one himself, and he can’t do that or then he’ll have to eat the whole thing. Something about buying a cupcake or slice of cake to eat alone on his birthday is too depressing. “Thank you for suggesting this. Please eat some of it.”

They set their credit cards on top of the check, and Louis takes a bite of cake, humming approvingly. “Do you remember when we used to tell the kids ‘one day, when you have your own children’?”

“Of course,” Harry says with a quiet laugh. “And then we’d follow it up with,  _ ‘if _ you have your own children’ because we wanted to make sure they knew we didn’t expect them to get married or have kids.”

_ “‘If _ you have your own children, I hope you remember this and use the expensive paint!’” Smiling, Louis tips his head back and closes his eyes, like he’s remembering that day as clearly as Harry is. 

Jacob caught Penelope drawing on the wall and, instead of tattling on her or stopping her or even pretending not to see the mess she was making, he joined in. Later, after they all four tried their best to remove the crayon and marker without also removing the paint, Jacob confessed that he’d known Penny would be in trouble, and that he wanted to be in trouble too, so she wouldn’t be as upset about it. That took some of the wind out of Harry’s sails, though he stayed mad at Louis for at least another day after that. He knew they shouldn’t have bought the cheap paint. 

“I think they did,” Harry says, thinking of the glossy sheen on the nursery walls when he last visited. 

“Did what?” Louis asks.

“Use the good paint.”

“Oh!” Louis laughs again, and says, “They probably did.”

The server appears with their cards and receipts and after he signs his, Harry sits back in his chair. Now’s the time for them to split up, for one of them to stay seated while the other goes ahead to the elevator, to avoid an awkward end to the evening. 

At the same time, they say, “I should go.” 

Instead of laughing or nodding and letting Louis leave first, Harry says, “Elevator’s big enough for two.”

“Oh, um…” Pushing his chair back, and standing, Louis says, “I suppose it is.”

On the short walk to the elevator, all Harry can think about is how, as soon as he’s in his hotel room, all the happiness he’s felt all evening will vanish, and he’ll be left alone and hollow. They step into the elevator, and both reach for the buttons.

“Sorry,” Harry says, backing against the other side of the elevator. “Can you push eight for me?”

“Eight for me, too,” Louis says, pressing the button for the eighth floor, and when he glances over, Harry realizes he’s been staring. It’s hard not to when Louis is still so beautiful. His grey hair and wrinkles don’t detract from his appearance at all, but they do make Harry self-conscious about his own. He looks down at his hands instead, lacing them together in front of him and rubbing his thumb over his bare ring finger. 

The elevator doors slide open, and this time Harry waits for Louis to go first, trying to remember his room number while he studies the sign on the wall. He pulls out his keycard and squints at it, looking back up at the sign, and starts down the corridor to his left, right beside Louis.

“Would be funny if they put us in the same room,” Harry says, though as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. It wouldn’t be funny at all, actually, having to explain that to the front desk. “Though, I suppose one of us would’ve noticed.”

“I think so,” Louis says, and they turn towards each other at the same time, but Harry looks away first. 

Eight-eleven. Eight-thirteen. Eight-fifteen. Harry counts ahead to his room. Eight-twenty-one. 

“This is me,” Louis says, stopping at room eight-eighteen, across and over one from Harry’s room. So close, and yet so far. How appropriate.

The alcohol hums in Harry’s veins, and when he opens his mouth to wish Louis goodnight, instead he mumbles, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“What?”

It’s possible that Louis didn’t understand him, that he wants Harry to repeat himself, or clarify, or even that he thought by asking that Harry would laugh and shake his head and they’d go to their own hotel rooms.

Harry steps forward quickly, before he can talk himself out of it, cupping Louis’ face in his hands and kissing him. Louis freezes in his hold, body stiff, arms hanging at his sides, and when he doesn’t respond after a few seconds, Harry starts to pull away, ready to apologize and blame it on the wine and the nostalgia and the events of the day. But before he can, Louis’ hands move to his waist, his lips part, and Harry whines into his mouth. 

“Which room?” Louis asks, squeezing Harry’s hips. 

“I dropped my key,” Harry says, taking a step back, and finding it on the floor between their feet. They bend forward, knocking their heads together. “Oops.”

“Hi,” Louis says, rubbing his forehead. “Every time.” He squats down to pick up the key card, then opens Harry’s room, and ushers him inside. 

Worried that Louis will change his mind, or that he might start asking questions, Harry hurries to take his clothes off, kicking his shoes across the room and yanking his sweater over his head. He throws himself onto the bed on his back, wiggling out of his jeans and underwear while Louis stands there watching him, and Harry’s hit with a wave of self-consciousness. There’s no denying that his body has changed in the thirteen years since Louis saw this much of it. But when Harry meets Louis’ gaze, he recognizes the hunger there, and his nervousness fades away. 

While Harry strokes himself to hardness, Louis takes his time undressing, eyes sweeping over Harry’s body. He pushes his jeans and boxers down, pulls his sweater off, and Harry groans at the sight of Louis’ familiar curves.

As Louis climbs onto the bed, the reality of what they’re doing hits Harry. Rather than address it, he reaches for Louis, and rolls them over, settling on top of him. Their mouths fit together the way they always did, and Harry fights the thought that their bodies are like puzzle pieces, made for each other. 

He kisses Louis’ cheekbone, his jaw, his neck, inhaling the scent of his soap and cologne, still the same after all these years. Trailing his lips over Louis’ skin, Harry leaves wet kisses on his collarbones, and takes the time to suck each of his nipples, biting them just a little, the way Louis likes it. He drags his cheek over Louis’ chest, feeling the brush of his chest hair on his face, missing the nights when he’d fall asleep using Louis as his pillow. 

Crawling down between his legs, Harry nuzzles the curve of his belly before darting his tongue out to taste him. Circling the tip of his tongue around the head of Louis’ cock, Harry focuses on Louis’ fingers in his hair, the warmth emanating from his thighs, his thumb tracing the shell of his ear. It’s a tender touch, and Harry leans into it, eyelashes fluttering closed as he takes Louis into his mouth. Hearing Louis’ breathy moan when he slides in deeper, lips tight around him, throws Harry’s mind back, and he sucks him down, bobbing his head, trying not to think. 

Harry inhales through his nose, pressing his tongue against the underside of Louis’ dick as he pulls off, letting his bottom teeth drag over his most sensitive spot for just a second, making him hiss. Tightening his grip on Harry’s hair, Louis pushes his head down, and Harry goes happily. Louis likes it wet and messy, always has. Maybe because he was never the one doing the laundry. Behind his eyelids, Harry rolls his eyes at himself. 

Wrapping his hand around the base of Louis’ dick, Harry strokes him, and lets his spit gather on his fingers, then he slips those fingers between Louis’ cheeks, sliding just the tip of his index finger inside. It’s enough to tease, and Louis pushes his hips down to take more, just as Harry presses his middle finger against his rim, sucking hard on the head of his cock, and rolling his balls in his other hand. The combined sensations topple Louis over the edge, and his body jerks as he comes, the head of his dick bumps the back of Harry’s throat, but he swallows around him, licking him clean while rutting against the bed.

“Harry,” Louis pants, fingers still tangled in Harry’s short curls. He tugs and when Harry looks up, he lets go and pats his chest. “Come on. Up here.”

The friction from the mattress feels good, but Louis’ hand will feel amazing, especially when Louis hasn’t touched him like that in so long. Trembling, Harry pushes himself onto all fours, and Louis pulls him up the rest of the way. He rolls Harry onto his back, crawls down between his legs, and takes him into his mouth, making Harry gasp. His silver hair is just as soft, just as silky when Harry combs his fingers through it, scratching his scalp. It doesn’t take much effort on Louis’ part to make Harry come, though it never did. Even when sex between them was nothing but rushed handjobs during the kids’ nap times, it was good. 

As soon as Harry’s heartbeat slows, he’s hit with overwhelming exhaustion. He doesn’t even get up to brush his teeth. Louis kisses his inner thigh, rubbing the tip of his nose over Harry’s sensitive skin, and Harry giggles, yawns, and the second Louis pulls the blankets over them, he falls asleep. 

●▬●▬●

When Harry wakes, it’s with a hangover worse than he’s ever experienced, and he’s alone. There’s a note scribbled on the hotel stationery:  _ Had to catch a flight to NYC! Sorry!  _ No signature, but Harry doesn’t need to see Louis’ name to recognize his handwriting. 

In the haze of the previous night, he thought that maybe they were at a point in their lives where they could… not patch things up, necessarily, but begin again. Start something new. Clearly, he was wrong. 

Harry stays in the shower until he feels closer to human, and then he gets dressed, packs his bag, and drinks enough coffee at the continental breakfast downstairs to get him moving. He stops by the hospital to see Anna, and her parents, of course, and then he drives back home to Richmond. Reminding himself every time he thinks of Louis, that he’s his ex-husband for a reason. 

●▬●▬●

In the six months since Anna was born, Harry’s driven from Richmond to Raleigh as often as Jacob and Clara let him, which worked out to about twice a month. He’s really going to miss her when he moves to Atlanta, but he and Gemma finally managed to sell their mom’s old house, and his new job starts soon. A small university offered a better opportunity for advancement than he’d ever get at the massive school where he’s been teaching. Plus, Atlanta is a city with no attachments to any other parts of his life, whereas Richmond is where he grew up, where his mom lived and died, and where he fled to when he left Louis. 

This weekend is the last weekend he’ll drive from Richmond to Raleigh, and it’s a special occasion: Anna is being baptised. He and Louis didn’t raise Jacob and Penelope with any particular religion, and Clara isn’t much of a believer either, but according to Jacob, she likes the ceremonial aspect. Harry doesn’t blame her. He loves a good ceremony. Though he and Louis were never legally married, they had a lovely wedding.

The room Harry rents this time is in a hotel far away from the hospital, the airport, the church, and Jacob and Clara’s house. Surely Louis will stay somewhere near the airport, since he’s likely flying in. Harry drives down the night before the baptism, so he won’t be rushed in the morning before the service.

Harry’s workday wardrobe consists of loose fitting trousers, corduroys, and jeans, sweater vests, cardigans, and button-down shirts. In his downtime, he’s more likely to wear sweatpants, or as has been the case recently with the summer heat and all of the packing he’s been doing, shorts and nothing else. Since he’s never been to a baptism before, he had to Google to find out what was appropriate for him to wear, and bought a brand new sweater vest and trousers just for the occasion. 

The sheep on the sweater vest seemed perfect for a baby baptism, and the pinstriped navy blue trousers make his long legs look even longer. With his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hopefully he won’t be too hot during the ceremony. He slips on his favorite pink loafers and drives to the church. 

Since the unfortunate incident in January—as he refers to drunkenly sleeping with his ex-husband—he and Louis have not been in contact, which is no different than the three years before that. Co-parenting was tough, but they made it work for ten years, until Penelope graduated from college, and Louis got engaged to someone else. After that, Harry had to stop keeping up with Louis or risk breaking his own heart all over again. 

Just inside the church entryway, Harry stops to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, and is almost bowled over by Penelope. Though she and Jacob are biologically brother and sister, she looks nothing like him, with brown eyes and blonde hair so curly that Louis stopped using that nickname for Harry altogether. She’s taller than her brother, too, taller than Harry by a fraction of an inch, so they stand eye to eye until she jumps and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Penny, oh my god, I didn’t think you were coming!” Harry squeezes her tight, picking her up and spinning her around in circles.

“Dad, don’t say ‘god’ like that in church,” she chastises him, kissing his cheek and hugging him again. 

“Seems like the place to say it, if you ask me,” Harry says with a wink, ignoring her rolling eyes. “Missed you. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to come, but I wanted to bring Tara. You know how standby is. So Pop flew us in,” she says, looking back over her shoulder, though, thankfully, Louis isn’t there. “I mean, he didn’t fly the plane, but you know what I mean. He got us on a plane together.”

“Good,” Harry says, waving at Penelope’s girlfriend as she approaches. “Tara, glad you could come. Haven’t seen you in forever, it seems.”

“It’s been a while, yeah,” she says, hugging Harry before stepping back and looping her arm around Penny’s waist. “I’ve never been to an infant baptism before.”

“Neither have I,” Harry says, leaning forward to peek into the sanctuary. “Bet it’s boring.”

“Dad,” Penny says disapprovingly, smacking his shoulder. 

“Bet he’s right,” Tara says with a quiet giggle. 

Penelope shakes her head, and an usher steps through the doors. “Immediate family is seated in the first row.”

Harry nods, following along behind Tara and Penny. He looks to the right and immediately sees Jacob with Anna sleeping on his shoulder, and Clara beside him. Clara’s parents are seated next to her, with Clara’s brother on the far end of the pew. There’s enough room for the three of them, and possibly for Louis as well, if he’d like to sit there. Just in case he does, Harry sits beside Jacob and Anna, patting the cushioned pew so that Penelope and Tara will join him. 

“Hi, baby Anna,” Harry whispers so he doesn’t disturb her nap. “Missed you.”

“You just saw us last weekend,” Jacob says with a grin. 

“I could see you every day and it wouldn’t be enough,” Harry says, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Anna’s head. 

“Hey, Pop,” Penelope says, and Harry whips his head around, reaching up to massage the side of his neck. Louis smiles, eyes flickering to Harry’s face and away just as quickly. He leans in to hug Tara, and Penny grabs his arm, pulling so that Louis either has to sit next to her or fall. It takes Harry’s mind a few seconds too long to process that the man behind Louis is not an usher, but Louis’ date. Louis brought a date to their infant granddaughter’s baptism. Harry waits until he turns away to roll his eyes. 

Thankfully, there are no introductions. The pastor begins to speak and the room falls silent. Jacob and Clara carry Anna up to the front, and the ceremony begins. Harry only cries a little, but he expected it and brought an embroidered handkerchief of his mother’s just for that reason. The baptism is short, and in less than half an hour it’s over and they’re making their way out of the sanctuary. Harry avoids Louis and his date, which is remarkable considering that there aren’t that many people in attendance. 

There’s a small reception at Clara’s parents’ house, a sprawling ranch in a suburb not far from the church, and Harry parks on the street, debating whether or not to take off his sweater vest. It’s hot and nearing lunchtime, so he decides he’ll be more comfortable without it, and leaves it in the car, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. 

Louis and his as-yet-unnamed-boyfriend aren’t there yet, so Harry makes the rounds, saying hello to everyone, and the second he sees Clara heave a tired sigh while holding Anna, he offers to take her. Which is how he winds up sitting in the recliner in the living room, feet propped up, with his granddaughter asleep on his chest. 

“I’ll take her, if you want,” Jacob offers, and Harry blinks open his eyes, feeling a bit disoriented from dozing off accidentally. 

“No, we’re good,” Harry says, smiling up at his son. “If you want to take her, you can, but I’m perfectly happy to sit here with her as long as I can.”

“If she wakes up, I’ll take her, but you can hold her,” Jacob says, squatting down beside the chair. “I know you’ll miss seeing her as often. Don’t know why you’re moving to Georgia when you could just move here.”

Harry scoffs, but quietly so he doesn’t disturb Anna. “I wish, but Raleigh isn’t for me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jacob says, looking over his shoulder. “Have you met Alex?”

“Who’s Alex— Oh.” Harry shakes his head, realizing the only person at the shower he hasn’t met is Louis’ date. “We haven’t been introduced.”

Jacob stands, looking down at Harry. “He’s a nice guy. Elementary school teacher. You’d like him, I think.”

Harry scoffs and snorts at the same time, and it startles Anna out of her nap. She fusses, and stretches, and Jacob reaches down, lifting her off of Harry’s chest. With a sigh, Harry lowers the footstool of the recliner, and says, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just going to go change her diaper,” Jacob says, though he waits for Harry to stand. “Be nice to Alex, Dad. He and Pop have been dating since, like, last fall.”

“Really?” Harry asks, trying to control his expression. He gives Jacob a closed lip smile. “Okay. I’ll be nice.”

After Jacob leaves with Anna, Harry takes a deep, calming breath, and sets off to find Louis. He and Alex are standing in the kitchen with Clara, but as soon as Harry walks into the room, Clara walks out. 

“Hello,” Harry says, hand already outstretched towards Alex. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Harry.”

“This is Alex,” Louis says, even though Harry and Alex are already shaking hands, and Alex seemed about to introduce himself. “My boyfriend.”

“I did figure that out myself,” Harry says with a chuckle, and gives Alex a genuine smile. “Glad you could come today.”

“Me too,” Alex says, tipping his head towards Louis. “Figured it was time to meet Anna. I’ve heard so much about her, seen pictures, but that’s not the same, is it?”

“No, definitely not,” Louis says, catching Harry’s eye. Anna squeals, and they all three turn in the direction of the sound. “Speaking of. Alex wanted a chance to hold her, so we should…”

“Oh, I do!” Alex nods, and lets Louis lead him out of the room. 

For a moment, Harry stands there, unreasonably angry that this man he barely knows is about to hold his granddaughter. But he lets it go, and leaves the kitchen, looking for Penelope so he can find out how long she’ll be in town. Thinking she might be on the porch, he steps outside, but finds Tara instead, sitting on the low bench beside the back door.

“Hello,” Harry says, “Sorry to interrupt. Have you seen Penny?”

“She’s in the bathroom, I think,” Tara says, patting the seat beside her. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Harry nods, and sits down. He’s known Tara for four years now, but they’ve never had a one on one conversation before. 

“I want to marry Penny,” Tara says, and Harry’s mouth drops open. 

“Oh my… Oh my gosh! That’s great!” Harry grins and claps, excited for them both.

“I haven’t asked her yet. I mean, we’ve talked about it, like, some, but…”

“She doesn’t know?”

“No, I think she knows it’s coming, but nothing official yet. I just wanted to sort of let you know before I did it, ’cause she was telling me about this ring of her grandmother’s and—”

“Oh! My mom’s ring,” Harry says, holding his hand to his mouth. “Do you want it?”

“If you want me to have it?” Tara purses her lips, tapping her fingers on her knee. “Is it weird?”

“No. Not at all,” Harry says, turning slightly to face her. “When she was little, Penelope used to love to say it was  _ her  _ ring.”

“Yeah, that’s what she told me.”

“It’s a beautiful band. Gold filigree, thin, no diamonds or anything like that,” Harry says. “But it’s lovely. If you want it for Penny, it’s yours.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Tara says, standing up. Harry stands too, and she hugs him quickly. “I’m excited. And I’m thinking winter wedding?”

“Ooh… That’ll be fun. Wait… This winter?”

“Hopefully!” she smiles, wide and bright, and Harry’s heart leaps. 

“I’ll send it to you as soon as I get home,” Harry promises. “And I won’t say anything. Our little secret.”

“Thank you again,” she says, nodding towards the door. “I’m gonna go find her.”

Harry smiles and waves her off, sitting back down. His other baby is going to get married. Just the thought has him on the verge of tears, but happy ones. 

The porch door opens, and Louis steps outside. “Oh, sorry, I—”

“I bet you are,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes as he stands to face him, and Louis shuts the door. “I’m disgusted by you.”

“What?”

“You  _ know  _ what,” Harry says, making sure to keep his voice low. “I’m not going to say anything to Alex, but you… I can’t believe you would cheat. I never would’ve… I honestly can’t think too much about it because as often as you were gone when we were together—”

“No!” Louis shouts, turning to look back inside the house. “I never— That’s not— I’ve never done  _ anything _ like that before, and I won’t again. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and combs his fingers through his silver hair. “Thank you, though, for not saying anything.”

Harry hums, pushing past him and reaching for the door. He stops, and says to Louis’ reflection in the glass, “Tara’s going to ask Penny to marry her. I’m giving her my mom’s ring.”

“Oh…” 

Before Louis can say more, Harry opens the door and leaves him out on the porch. 

The ring is small; a delicately filigreed band of gold that belonged to Harry’s mother, and that she gave him when he graduated high school. It never fit him, not even on his pinky finger, but that wasn’t what it was for. For a while, he wore it on a thin chain around his neck, but when he and Louis moved in together, he’d stupidly proposed to him with it, though it didn’t fit him either. He never wore it. It was more of a symbolic proposal, anyway. The ring lived in a jewelry box on their shared dresser for years. Penny and Jacob would try it on, just like they tried on every other ring, necklace, and bracelet in the box, until one day it was too small for Jacob’s fingers. The last time Penny slipped it on, it still fit. 

●▬●▬●

Two weeks after the baptism, Harry’s living in his new place in Atlanta, surrounded by unpacked boxes, when Penelope calls to tell him that Tara proposed. A winter wedding. At a ski resort in California near Lake Tahoe.

The end of summer goes by so fast that it’s time for fall midterms before Harry can unpack his cardigans. 

He loves his new job, the university, the students, the city. Atlanta is bigger than he remembered, and the traffic is atrocious, but his neighborhood is nice, with lovely trees and hills, he gets out to walk or jog nearly every day. 

The fall semester winds down, and for Christmas Harry buys himself a new ski jacket and pants, because it’s been a few years since he’s been skiing and his old pants don't fit anymore. He refuses to feel bad about it. At fifty-two, he’s in good shape, so what if he’s slightly  _ wider _ than he used to be. 

It’s been hard, since their split, to forget what the holidays used to mean. When they were together, it was often hit or miss around that time of year, and even if Louis was scheduled to be home, sometimes he wasn’t. But they made do, and they made up for it. 

And afterwards, when the kids were still young and living at home with Harry in Richmond, Louis started flying on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day on purpose. He said he didn’t want the kids to have to choose between them, but Harry often wondered if that was the whole truth, or if he didn’t want them to choose him—it’s his birthday, after all—and leave Harry alone. Little things like that make Harry wonder if he made the right decision all those years ago. 

With the kids grown and on their own and all of them spread out across the country, they aren’t able to get together for the holidays this year. Especially with the travel for Penelope and Tara’s upcoming wedding. And Harry can’t stay home alone on Christmas Eve unless he wants to sit around feeling sorry for himself and inevitably think about Louis. So he goes out. He drives downtown and spends the entire day shopping at the Christmas market and enjoying the twinkling lights. He eats Christmas cookies and has dinner alone and enjoys it. And then he goes ice skating. 

The rental skates aren’t as comfortable as the ones he used to have, but maybe it’s just been so long since he’s worn a pair that he’s forgotten. At first, he’s wobbly on the ice, but it comes back to him before he finishes the first lap around the rink. 

On his third lap, he tries to turn around and skate backwards, immediately stumbling and almost falling, if not for the strong arms that catch him. 

“Oops!” Harry grabs the arms holding him up and gets to his feet to thank his rescuer. 

“Alright there?” 

Harry blinks at the man, wondering if he really looks like a tall Paul Newman or if maybe he hit his head. “I’m okay. Thank you. Sorry for—”

“Don’t be.” 

The man does look like a tall Paul Newman, and his name is actually Paul, which Harry finds hilarious. They skate together for a while, Paul using the excuse that he wants to make sure Harry doesn’t fall again to ask for his number. He’s sweet. Handsome. Kind. And when he asks Harry on a date the following week, he says yes. 

They decide to take things slow, which isn’t what Harry wants, but probably what they both need, since Paul has been divorced for less than a year. Their dates end in a few sweet kisses, but nothing more, and if Harry wasn’t panicking about not having a date for Penelope and Tara’s wedding, he probably wouldn’t be worried about rushing things with Paul. Who might be good on ice skates, but has never skied in his life, and who Harry likes, but can already tell isn't going to be the next great love of his life. If there even is such a thing.

Harry just doesn’t want to be that guy. He can’t show up to their daughter’s wedding alone and watch Louis with Alex. Not that he begrudges Louis any happiness. He wants Louis to be happy. But not in front of him. 

The wedding is in mid-January, and Harry books a flight that’ll arrive right around check-in time at the resort where Tara and Penny have reserved a block of rooms. He didn’t expect them to go so formal for the ceremony, but they did, so the first thing he does after he gets to his room is arrange for his suit and rehearsal outfit to be steamed. 

His room is small and cozy, with a balcony overlooking the snow covered mountains. The rehearsal is to take place that night, and Harry hides out in his room until Penny shows up, threatening to push him off the balcony into the snow. 

“Dad, you brought your skis, didn’t you?” she asks, checking her phone. “Tara’s waiting for me. Pop’s already on the mountain.”

“Where’s your brother?” Harry asks instead of asking about Alex or answering her question. Of course he brought his skis. 

“He and Clara are taking turns with Anna in the lodge,” she says, dangling her goggles from her fingers and swinging them back and forth. “Are you coming or not?”

Finally, Harry musters the courage to ask, “Does Alex ski?”

Penelope huffs and rolls her eyes. “No clue, Dad. They broke up months ago.”

“Oh, um…” 

She checks her phone again and nods once. “Alright. I’m going.”

“Okay,” Harry says, angry at himself for being so childishly pleased that Louis’ relationship ended. “See you out there.”

●▬●▬●

Dressed in his new yellow ski jacket and black pants, along with his old yellow helmet, Harry feels a bit like a bee. He stops to speak to Clara in the lodge, holding Anna for a bit, and promising to come back to the lodge to look after her so Clara and Jacob can have some time to themselves. Then he takes the lift up to one of the beginner slopes to get used to being on skis again. 

At the bottom of the mountain, Harry sees a familiar figure in black and red, and almost forgets to stop until the last second. He sends snow splattering onto Louis, who he can tell is scowling at him, even though his eyes aren’t visible through his goggles. 

“Oops!” Harry reaches out to brush some of the ice off of Louis’ red jacket. 

Louis lowers his goggles, and he’s definitely scowling as he pushes Harry’s hand away. “Hi.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, cringing a little at Louis’ obvious annoyance. “Wasn’t expecting to run into you. Literally.”

After Louis puts his goggles back on, he nods, but doesn’t say anything, turning and heading towards the lift for the intermediate trail that Harry was planning to ride up on. He hangs back a bit, waiting so that he can catch the next one, but when he moves ahead in line, Louis steps aside to let a group of friends ride up together. Figuring he’s done all he can at this point to avoid riding on the lift with Louis, Harry gets on the same chair, though there are two other people between them, so they aren’t forced to sit together. 

At the top of the lift, they ski off, and the two people between them speed away. Attempting to ignore Louis, Harry starts down the mountain, but he can see him in his peripheral vision. They ski side by side, the way they used to before the kids came along and they had to start spending most of their time on the bunny slope. When they get to the bottom, they wordlessly line up together for the lift at the closest black diamond trail. 

Thirty-something years ago, the first time they went skiing together, they were on winter break from college, and spent more time showing off for each other and flirting than they did actually skiing. It was the most fun Harry’d had in so many layers of clothing, but of course, later that night, they’d had fun of a different kind that didn’t involve long underwear, goggles, skis, or snow. Harry doesn’t bring any of that up, of course. He tries not to think about it, but it’s hard not to, when Louis is right there, somehow managing to ski just a little bit in front of him, so that his bum is in Harry’s direct line of vision. 

They stay together all day, not talking, but riding the lifts up and skiing down next to each other until the early evening, when Harry's stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. And that he completely forgot about watching Anna for Clara and Jacob. 

At the bottom of the mountain, Harry skis away from the lifts, and Louis follows, speaking for the first time in hours. “Where are you going?”

Annoyed at Louis’ tone, as if he’s entitled to know Harry's whereabouts, Harry says, “Oh, we’re talking now?”

Louis huffs and pulls his goggles down, squinting into the sun reflecting off the snow. “Do you not know how to start a conversation?”

“It’s late. I’m hungry,” Harry says, letting his goggles hang around his neck. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, the rehearsal for our daughter’s wedding is in a few hours.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Louis snaps. He pulls off one glove, holding it with his teeth while he checks his pockets. “I didn’t realize it was— What time is it?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, waiting for Louis to find his phone and look for himself. 

“Shit. It’s after four,” Louis says, and then, as if Harry isn’t aware, he adds, “The rehearsal starts at six!”

“Like I said, it’s late.” Starting towards the cable car that will take him back to the resort, Harry takes his helmet off and shakes out his hair, pondering whether to order something from room service. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Louis standing beside him, and Harry says, “Where are  _ you  _ going?”

“Back to my room.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry says, “Fine.”

“Yes. It is,” Louis says, and Harry lets him have the last word. 

They step out of their skis and when they climb into the cable car, Harry moves to the far side away from Louis. It’s a short ride to the resort, and soon they’re storing their skis and switching out their boots for shoes. Harry rolls his eyes when they get in the elevator and Louis presses the button for the third floor. Of course they’re on the same floor in the same section of the resort. Because Tara and Penny reserved a block of rooms, it makes perfect sense. 

What does not make any sense at all is that Louis’ room is  _ right next door.  _

“Can’t believe they put us in adjoining rooms,” Louis says, unlocking his door. 

“They did not— Oh…” Remembering the door beside the nightstand that he overlooked, Harry opens his door and says, “Well, leave yours shut and locked and I will too.”

Inside his room, Harry leans against the door for a moment. Before Louis ruined their day by speaking, they were having a fun time together, and Harry let himself get caught up in it. The exhilaration of skiing for the first time in so long bled over into being with Louis, and his heart got confused. Thankfully, his head is in the right place. 

Harry takes a deep breath and blows it out, puffing his cheeks. He calls room service to order a snack, and takes a quick shower before it’s delivered. When his sandwich and his clothes are brought up to his room, he tips the porter, and hangs his suit, taking bites of his food between applying moisturizer to his face and neck, and a leave-in conditioner to his hair in the hopes that it’ll help his curls in the dry mountain air.

His suit for the wedding is black, as requested by Penelope, and slim-fitting, since he liked the way it fit better than any of the others he tried on. The shirt is a pale pink, but Penny told him not to wear a tie, so he didn’t pack one. For the rehearsal tonight, he was left to his own devices, and since he didn’t want to buy anything else that he would likely never wear again, he packed the navy pinstripe trousers that he wore to the baptism, a green blazer that he’s owned for years but hasn’t worn, and a white shirt that he hopes he doesn’t spill anything on. 

As soon as Harry steps into the corridor, so does Louis, and he almost wishes he’d knocked on the door connecting their rooms to let Louis know he was planning to leave so they could avoid each other a little longer. Instead, they both nod, and head down to the rehearsal together. Harry resolutely does not notice Louis’ fitted black trousers or the way the pushed up sleeves of his grey blazer accentuate his forearms. He most assuredly doesn’t spend any time at all looking at Louis’ delicate wrists or strong hands, especially when he rubs them together. 

The wedding planner takes them through the ceremony, showing everyone where to go and what to do, and Harry quietly follows directions, tearing up when he and Louis are told to flank Penelope and walk her down one of two aisles. At the same time, Tara’s parents walk her in from the other side, and they all meet in the middle. Harry and Louis both lean in to kiss Penny on the cheek, and then they’re told to sit in the first row of chairs, next to each other. Harry’s bum hits the seat, and the tears start to fall. He searches his pockets, but his mom’s embroidered handkerchief is upstairs in his suitcase, and he needs to remember to put it in his suit pocket as soon as he gets back to his room. In the meantime, he sniffles, and checks his pockets again, just in case.

“Here,” Louis says, passing Harry a tiny pack of tissues. 

“Thanks,” Harry whispers, taking one and handing them back. They spend the rest of the rehearsal dabbing at their eyes. 

Dinner is served in a small, private dining room, with place cards at each seat, and Harry starts around the room, reading each card until he finds the one with his name on it. Right next to Penny. With Louis on his other side. Harry closes his eyes and takes a quiet breath, and then sits down. 

“You okay, Dad?” Penny asks. 

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Spent the whole day on the mountain,” Harry says, reaching for his water glass. “My bum hurts.”

Penny snorts, sounding too much like him, and he elbows her gently. 

“Your bum?” Louis says, loud enough to catch the attention of Penelope, Tara, and both of Tara’s parents.

“Shh…” Harry frowns as Louis sits beside him, smirking like he’s made a joke. He lowers his voice until he’s sure no one but Louis can hear, and whispers, “My bum is none of your business.”

Blatantly looking Harry up and down, Louis’ eyes linger on Harry’s lap long enough that he checks to make sure his fly is up. And then Louis murmurs, “Your choice.”

Harry gasps, wide-eyed. But then he turns his nose up with a huff, and grabs his wine. To Penelope, he asks, “Are we having chicken?”

“Or fish,” she says, holding up her wine glass until Harry clinks his glass against it. “Nothing too crazy. Tomorrow night is steak or shrimp.”

“That is…” Harry leans forward to look at Tara’s parents, then back at Louis. “Am I paying for that? Are you paying for that?”

“What?” Louis asks, wrinkling his brow.

“Dad, relax. You’re not paying for anything,” Penelope says, laughing into her wine glass. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Harry,” Louis says, tapping the outside of Harry’s thigh with his knuckle, a touch so familiar to Harry that he stills completely, even though it’s been years since he’s felt it. Their secret signal to tell the other one to shut up. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“What is with you?” Harry asks, voice going higher.

“I said I’m sorry. I was…” Louis beckons him closer, and Harry leans in so Louis can whisper in his ear. “Tara wanted to pay for everything. She inherited some money. I thought you knew.”

Harry shakes his head. “You know that episode of friends, where Ross and Emily get married and—” 

“And Emily’s parents try to get the Gellars to pay for their wine cellar,” Louis says, quietly finishing Harry’s sentence. “Yeah, this is not like that.”

“Okay,” Harry says, fanning himself. “Sorry. I really am tired, and not thinking clearly. I didn’t eat much today. Maybe I shouldn’t have wine.” 

“Chicken,” Louis says, and it takes Harry a second to understand that he’s ordering and not calling Harry a chicken. 

That thought makes him giggle and he orders the chicken as well, hoping that it comes with a salad. 

While they’re waiting for the food, Penny and Tara stand up to thank everyone for coming, and Jacob says a few words wishing his sister and Tara happiness, then Tara’s brother does the same. It seems like all of Penny and Tara’s friends want to say something, and before they finish, the food is being brought out, and dinner is served. 

Harry’s plate is set in front of him, and he instantly looks to Louis. “Did you—”

“I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t even look at the menu,” Louis says, reaching around behind Harry to tap Penny on the shoulder. “Did you choose the menu?”

“Yeah!” she says, turning in her seat. “Tara picked the fish because it’s something her family always had on special occasions when she was a kid. I picked the chicken, ’cause, you know, it’s like a family favorite, right?”

“Right,” Harry says, nodding and picking up his fork. 

There’s no way Penny would know that it was the first meal Louis cooked for him, or that he used to say it was the most romantic thing he’d ever done. That was something they always kept to themselves. And they only ever made it when one of them was feeling particularly amorous. Another one of their secret codes. 

On the rare Friday night that Harry would come home to Louis in the kitchen, cooking chicken stuffed with mozzarella and wrapped in parma ham with a side of homemade mash, he knew that, once the kids were in bed, he was in for a long night of Louis making love to every part of him. Most times he was so excited he could hardly eat. 

“Looks delicious.” Harry forces a smile, and hopes it looks genuine, but it hurts to be reminded of happier times. 

“Probably better than anything I ever made,” Louis says under his breath. 

That might be true, but Harry would never say so. “I’m sure it’s passable.”

Louis barks a laugh, and when Harry looks up, Louis is grinning, wrinkles by his eyes deeper because of his smile. 

They don’t speak much for the rest of the rehearsal dinner, but it’s a companionable silence, and when it’s over, Harry waits for Louis to leave, chatting with Tara’s parents until he’s sure Louis has made it back to his room before going up to his own. He hangs his jacket and trousers, and because the room has a nice, large tub, he takes a bath, soaking his muscles in the hot water. He sleeps well, his body too exhausted to let his mind keep him awake. 

●▬●▬●

Harry wakes up the next morning too sore to spend the day on skis. He’s not sure he’d be able to actually maneuver himself down the mountain, and instead heads to the resort’s gym to use one of the stationary bikes in the hopes that a different exercise—one during which he can sit on his ass—will loosen up his muscles. It helps some, and the sauna helps more. 

After a long shower, he has a leisurely breakfast in his room, and texts Jacob to offer his services for the day. He won’t be there for Anna’s first birthday, as it falls in the middle of the week, and he wants to spend as much time with his granddaughter as he can. 

When he offered to babysit, he thought they might take him up on it for an hour or so, but Clara and Jacob bring Anna to his room, along with a well-stocked diaper bag, a baby carrier, her stroller, an assortment of toys, and the portable crib they’ve been using in their room—just in case he wants to put her down for a nap. Then they set up the crib, show him how to use the backpack carrier, remind him how often she likes to eat, and leave so quickly his head spins. 

“Oh my goodness,” Harry says, voice a little higher, as he bounces Anna on his hip, and walks to the balcony door. “We’ll have fun today, won’t we?” 

As far as he knows, she says ‘dada’ and ‘baba’ and nothing else, so her gurgling response is expected. They step out onto the balcony for a moment, since she’s still bundled up for the cold weather, and Harry tries to figure out what to do first. 

It’s early, and he decides they might as well get out and see what they can find. He puts Anna in the carrier on his chest, sticks the diaper bag in the basket under the stroller, throws a few toys in too, and they take off. 

The ski resort has a small shopping area, with stores selling snow gear and souvenirs lining the sidewalks, as well as a few restaurants. Harry and Anna make their way through, window shopping, and enjoying the sunshine, until she starts to fuss and he realizes it’s time for lunch. They stop to eat at a cafe, and Harry sets her up in a high chair. While she enjoys a chilled bottle from her diaper bag, Harry orders a club sandwich for himself and a side of mashed sweet potatoes for her. Anna’s giggles bring other patrons to their table, strangers stopping by to say hello while they eat. 

When they’re finished, the people at the table next to them offer to watch the stroller while Harry takes Anna to the restroom to change her diaper. When Jacob and Penny were small, there were no changing tables in the men’s restrooms, and family restrooms were few and far between. Most of the time, if he and Louis were out with the kids, they took them to the car for diaper changes, or occasionally changed them right in the stroller. 

On the way back to his room, Harry pushes Anna in the stroller. She seems to enjoy being able to look at passersby, and it’s a relief for his back because she’s quite heavy. It’s been a perfect day so far, and Harry smiles to himself in the elevator. Maybe, after he puts Anna down for her nap, he’ll take one too. 

Anna coos at him while he changes her out of her many warm layers and into her footed pajamas, and sighs happily when he picks her up again to walk her around the room while singing her to sleep. She nods off quickly—diaper clean and belly full—and Harry gently places her on her back in the portable crib. The second he sits down on the bed to take off his shoes, she fusses, and he freezes, but she quiets down again and he tucks his shoes under the edge of the bed, stretching out with his hands folded behind his head. He closes his eyes, and Anna wails.

Harry leaps off of the bed to pick her up, shushing her and holding her to his chest as he bounces up and down the way he used to do with Jacob and Penny when they were little. She cries harder. 

“No, no, no,” Harry whispers, lifting her up to give her a sniff. Nope. Still clean. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He checks to make sure the velcro tabs of her diaper aren’t loose and scratching her skin, but they’re secure, and she doesn’t stop crying even after she burps. Cradling her instead of holding her up on his shoulder, Harry twists at the waist, back and forth, but it doesn’t help. In fact, none of the tricks he remembers from raising his own children work, and he’s on the verge of calling Jacob and Clara to come rescue him when there’s a knock at the door. Harry starts towards the door to the hallway, but then there’s another knock, and Louis’ voice carries through the door connecting their rooms.

“Harry?”

For just a second, Harry considers ignoring him, but then he flips the lock, and opens the door to find his half-naked ex-husband on the other side, looking anxious with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark grey sweatpants. 

“Is she okay?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and leaning in to look closer at her scrunched up, fussy face.

Harry nods, moving Anna back to his shoulder. “She’s supposed to be napping. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Can I try?” Louis asks, reaching for her. 

“Please,” Harry says without hesitation, passing Anna to him. 

Holding her with one arm, Louis sways, gently rubbing his thumb up and down between her eyebrows as hums, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. He forgot that Louis’ secret weapon for getting their babies to sleep when all else failed was “My Love, My Life” by ABBA. 

When he gets to the end of the chorus, Louis starts to quietly sing, “You are still my love and my life… Still my one and only…”

Harry has to leave the room. He takes his time in the bathroom, hoping that Anna will be asleep and Louis will be finished singing when he opens the door again. 

Still standing, still swaying, but silently, Louis holds their peacefully sleeping granddaughter in his arms, clearly worried that putting her down will wake her up. When he sees Harry, he softly says, “That crib is crap.”

Harry snorts, looking down at it. It certainly doesn’t seem like a comfortable place to sleep. “Okay. I have an idea.”

A moment later, Harry’s stacked all of the pillows in a chair in the corner, and stripped the king size bed down to it’s sheets. He lays on the far side of the bed, flat on his back, and pats the center of the mattress. Louis looks at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Lay over there,” Harry whispers, pointing at the other side of the bed. “Put her between us. We’ll just… watch her sleep.”

Louis nods, very slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and laying back with Anna on his chest. Once he’s lying down, he takes a few breaths, then rolls onto his side, gently placing her on her back. She whimpers in her sleep, limbs twitching, but she doesn’t wake, and eventually stills, stretching her arms out to either side.

“Oh my god,” Harry mouths, rather than says the words, and Louis smiles. 

“When are they coming to get her?” Louis asks, keeping his voice quiet. When Harry shrugs, Louis says, “Guess this is what I’m doing this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and though he’d really rather not be left alone with Anna right now, in case she wakes up and won’t stop crying again, he adds, “You can go.” 

Shaking his head, Louis says, “No. I’ll stay. Don’t get to see as much of her as I’d like.”

Harry wants to ask him whose fault that is. Where Louis lives in Charlotte is much closer to Jacob and Clara than Harry is, now that he’s in Atlanta. But he keeps his mouth shut. It’s not the time to argue, when they’ve just managed to get Anna to sleep. Instead, Harry crosses his ankles, and folds his hands on his chest, closing his eyes. 

He wakes up, disoriented from his unexpected nap. “Lou?”

“Pop went back to his room.” Jacob points towards the closed door connecting the two hotel rooms, and hefts the collapsed portable crib. “He said to let you sleep, but I think closing this woke you. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, sitting up. “Need to get up anyway. Where’s Anna?”

“Clara already took her back to our room,” Jacob says, looking around the room, but it seems like they’ve already collected all of Anna’s things. “Thanks for keeping her. Sorry she was difficult.”

“Not difficult,” Harry says, bending over to pick up a stuffed rabbit from under the edge of the bed. He sticks it in the diaper bag hanging from Jacob’s shoulder. “She’s a baby and I’m out of practice.”

“Still. Thanks,” Jacob says, and Harry walks ahead of him to open the door. When Jacob steps into the hallway, he turns and nods towards Louis’ room. “Tell Pop thanks, too. Nice teamwork.”

“Dream team,” Harry mutters, shaking his head as he closes the door. 

●▬●▬●

Thankfully, Harry’s nap didn’t damage his curls. Dressed in his new black suit and pale pink shirt, Harry opens his door just as Louis is passing by in the hall, and walks right into the door frame.

“Oops!” Louis says, chuckling at Harry’s clumsiness. 

Harry rubs his forehead, scowling at his ex-husband. “Hi.”

Reaching up as if to touch Harry’s face, Louis stops with his hand inches away, lowering it to his side. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, leaning forward. “Is there a mark?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Louis says, slipping his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Got your handkerchief?”

“No!” Spinning around, Harry goes back into his room, rifling through his suitcase until he finds it. He folds it neatly and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I have tissues, just in case,” Louis says, waiting until Harry shuts the door to start down the hallway. 

_ “Just in case.” _ Harry laughs loudly at the memory, pressing the button for the elevator. “You were such a mess at Jacob and Clara’s wedding.”

“I, um… I was,” Louis says, stepping into the elevator and looking down to button his jacket. “Didn’t know you were paying attention.”

“Hard not to when I couldn’t hear the vows,” Harry says, though they both know Louis is more of a silent crier; Harry’s the one who can’t stop his sniffles once they start. 

Rather than address that blatant lie, Louis says, “Thought I’d see you on the mountain this morning.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry reaches around and squeezes his own ass. “I haven’t skied in years, and we were out there all day yesterday. My ass is killing me.”

Louis grins, shaking his head, and Harry watches as he brushes his silver hair off his forehead. “Mine too. My thighs, though. When I laid down with Anna earlier? I thought ‘oh, well, my legs are just going to give out’ as I was sitting, but then I hit the mattress, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved.”

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Louis rubs his hands together, and Harry’s gaze gets caught on the familiar movement. He shakes himself out of it, and follows his ex-husband out of the elevator. 

“We’re wearing matching outfits,” Harry says, though he’s sure Louis already noticed.

“I know. I don’t know what anyone else is wearing. Did Jacob say?”

“I didn’t think to ask.” Glancing over, Harry takes note of the slight differences in their suits. Louis’ jacket is tailored to fit his narrow waist, flaring slightly over his bum, and his trousers are snug enough on his thighs that Harry can see the lines of his muscles moving as he walks. He looks up, and finds Louis watching him.

“Well, I hope we’re not the only ones in matching outfits,” Louis says, opening the door to the room where they’re supposed to wait for the wedding planner to come tell them what to do. Harry walks in first, and Jacob is there, wearing the same sort of suit, so at least three of them are matching. 

“Oh, you look so handsome,” Harry says, holding his hands to his cheeks. He turns to Louis, smiling, and Louis rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, stepping closer to their son. “You do look handsome.”

Tara’s brother and father join them, and both are wearing black suits with pink shirts, but they both have on black bowties. Before Harry can wish he had one of his own, he’s handed one. 

“Oh!” Harry claps and drapes the tie around his neck. “Are we all—”

“I hate these,” Louis mutters, unbuttoning his collar. He flips it up, and turns to Harry. “I can never tie them right.”

“I’ll do it. Come here,” Harry says, waving him over. As soon as Louis steps closer, Harry remembers that there’s only one way he can tie a bowtie for another person. “Um…”

“Oh…” Louis moves to stand between Harry and the mirror, with his back to Harry’s chest. “Sorry. I mean… I could try to—”

“It’s fine. Be still,” Harry says, adjusting the tie around Louis’ neck, and focusing on the mirror as he crosses and tucks and folds and flips, until it’s tied in a perfect bow. 

“My turn, Dad,” Jacob says, and Louis quickly gets out of the way, fixing his collar while Harry ties Jacob’s tie. 

As soon as he’s done, he ties his own, clearing his throat, and trying to forget that, as far as he knows, Louis has only worn a bowtie once before, and that was at their own wedding. 

The wedding goes off without a hitch. They wait for Penelope outside the door, and her floor length black ball gown is breathtaking. 

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Louis is quicker. He says, “The most beautiful girl in the world!” and all Harry can do is nod as they wrap her up in a hug from both sides. 

“I was betting on a pink dress,” Harry says when he finds his voice. “But this is much more you.”

“Thanks, um…” she takes Harry’s hand and reaches for Louis’ hand as well, swinging them both back and forth. “I was a little worried about getting married here. Like, I thought you guys might argue or something might happen, since we’re all sort of stuck at the same place. But I saw you guys skiing yesterday, and Jacob told me you babysat Anna together, and I’m just really happy that like, even if you’re not married anymore, you’ve decided to be friends again.”

“Oh, Penny, I…” Harry blinks rapidly to stop the tears from welling up, and swallows against the lump in his throat. 

“You know we were never really married,” Louis says, and Harry whips his head around. “What? We weren’t. It wasn’t legal back then.”

Harry frowns, huffing through his nose. “I don’t know why you’d bring that up now.”

“Just saying that I’m happy Penelope and Tara can actually get married,” Louis says, standing back as the wedding planner approaches. “That’s all.”

That may be the truth, but it makes his heart ache to hear Louis speak so flippantly about their marriage when, to Harry at least, it was genuine, no matter that they didn’t have a license. 

Penelope's attendants are sent through the door when the music starts, and when it’s their turn, the three of them slowly make their way down the aisle. When they get to the front, Harry’s nervous smile is replaced by a wide grin at the sight of Tara in a pale pink sheath dress. He and Louis lean in to kiss Penny’s cheeks, and as soon as they take their seats, Harry pulls his handkerchief from his pocket. 

It’s a beautiful ceremony, and the reception is lovely, but after they make their speeches, Harry’s ready to go. He stays, of course. The meal is delicious, the cake is too, and he definitely wants to spin his daughter around the dance floor, even though he doesn’t dip her nearly as well as Louis does. But he’s tired, and a little sad. When the party really kicks off, he says goodbye, and makes his way back to his room. 

He had wine with dinner, and champagne for the toast, but he tried not to drink too much, in an effort to curb his sadness. It can’t be helped. He was just as sad at Jacob and Clara’s wedding, and he had a boyfriend at the time who came as his plus one. But weddings always make him think of Louis, and their marriage. A real marriage, despite anything Louis says to the contrary. 

Thinking of his earlier comment raises Harry’s hackles, and he kicks off his shoes, balling up his jacket and throwing it across the room. He growls as he unbuttons his shirt, leaving it hanging open while he pushes his pants down. When he tries to kick them off, his feet get caught up in the slim fit legs, and he pitches forward, shoulder colliding with the door that separates the two hotel rooms.

“Shit,” Harry says, unable to stop himself as he slides to the floor.

“Harry?” Louis’ muffled voice is followed by a knock. “You okay?”

“You okay?” Harry mimics him, but quietly. He speaks up and says, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Louis asks, and Harry can hear him opening the door on his side. 

“Why do you care?” Harry scoots away from the door, accidentally kicking it when he finally gets his feet free from his pants.

“I’m coming in,” Louis says, and he opens the door, which Harry stupidly forgot to lock. He looks down at Harry on the floor, one hand on his hip, the other holding the same little bottle of complimentary lotion that Harry has in his bathroom, and Harry narrows his eyes, trying not to notice that they’re both in nothing but their socks, underwear, and unbuttoned shirts. “Did you fall?”

“No,” Harry lies, tugging off his socks and throwing them at Louis one at a time as he gets to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Louis follows Harry’s gaze to the lotion in his hand. “Oh, I was massaging my thighs. Wasn’t kidding when I said they’re sore.”

Mind flooded with the image of Louis rubbing lotion over his own thighs, Harry says the only thing he can think of, “I thought you were bringing Alex. You know, as your date.”

“We broke up,” Louis says, walking back into his room and setting his lotion down on the nightstand beside his bed. 

“Did you cheat on him again?” Harry asks, following him into his room. 

“No!” Louis grabs Harry’s arm, pulling him close, so they’re face to face. “I told him the truth, okay? I told him we slept together, because I wanted to be honest, and he broke up with me.”

“You told him?” Harry asks incredulously. “Idiot.”

“Idiot?” Louis pokes him in the shoulder. “You made me feel like shit.” 

“You’re the one who cheated!”

“With you!” Louis pokes him in the other shoulder. “You’re the one who threw yourself at me!” 

“I did not,” Harry says, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

Louis reaches for him, grabbing his face and pulling him into a rough kiss. He threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, tugging his short curls, tipping his head for a better angle, and Harry melts against him. His hands find Louis’ hips, but he doesn’t linger there, sliding them around and down to cup his ass, squeezing it, and swallowing the breathy moan it draws from Louis. 

When Harry does it again, Louis hitches his leg up, and Harry grips his thigh, feeling his muscles flex beneath his fingers. He turns them towards Louis’ bed, releasing Louis’ leg, and he falls backwards onto the mattress. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” Harry asks, possibly jumping the gun when he glances at the bottle of lotion beside the bed. 

Groaning, Louis nods, pushing his underwear down, and sitting up to take off his shirt. Harry hurries to do the same, crawling between Louis’ legs while his underwear are still dangling from his foot. He kicks them to the floor, humming happily when he lays down and they’re chest to chest, hardening dicks trapped between their bodies. They rut against each other, and Harry buries his face against Louis’ neck, nipping at his earlobe when Louis sucks a kiss to his shoulder. Louis scratches his nails down Harry’s back, and Harry lifts his head, only for Louis to take his lips in a bruising kiss. Fully hard, Harry sits up, reaching for lotion, while Louis rolls over and crawls to the middle of the bed. 

His ass looks as amazing as it always has, and Harry bends down to kiss each cheek before doing anything else. Louis laughs, crossing his legs and making Harry moan at the sight of his muscles tensing. Upending the bottle, Harry empties it on Louis’ thighs, and falls on top of him, kissing the back of his neck, while trying to fit his dick between his legs. He hardly ever gets himself off anymore, not really having the urge as often as he once did, but something about Louis makes him crazy with want. Always has.

Thrusting slowly, Harry forces his hands beneath Louis’ hips until he can touch his cock. Louis grinds against the palm of Harry’s hand while Harry speeds up, fucking into the space between his thighs, panting against his back, and chasing an orgasm that’s already within reach. He slows down, not wanting it to be over too soon, but Louis flexes his muscles, and Harry chokes on air as he comes, making a mess of Louis’ thighs. 

Lifting up and sitting back, Harry swipes his hand through the lotion and come, urging Louis onto his back. He jerks him off with it, leaning down to kiss him again, sucking on his lower lip when Louis gasps, orgasm hitting him almost as fast as Harry’s did. Working him through it, Harry presses kisses to his cheek until Louis whines, and Harry rolls off of him. 

Chest heaving, Louis says, “That was me throwing myself at you. Now we’re even.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, pushing himself off the bed, and stumbling to the bathroom. Once he’s clean enough, he brings Louis a damp washcloth, and debates going back to his own bed before giving up and shutting the door between the rooms. He takes Louis’ washcloth back to the bathroom, and they pull the dirty bedspread off, climbing beneath the sheets. 

“We’re the people who get come on the hotel bedding,” Louis says. 

Ignoring Louis’ comment, Harry reaches to turn off the lamp as Louis cuddles up to his back, the same way he used to. Harry links their fingers together, like muscle memory. Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it breaks some ‘sleeping with your ex-husband’ rule that he’s not aware of. Maybe he should let go. Before he can think too much about it, Louis squeezes his hand gently, and soon Harry drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, he wakes to the sound of his phone alarm going off in the next room. Careful not to wake Louis, he gets out of bed, and goes to find his phone, which is still plugged into the charger beside the bed. There’s a missed text from Paul, offering to pick him up at the airport, and Harry cringes. For the past few days, he forgot Paul existed. And he can’t face Louis, knowing how much of a hard time Harry’s given him about cheating on Alex. He packs his suitcase as quickly and quietly as he can, checking out of the resort early, and taking a taxi to the airport. 

●▬●▬●

After Harry gets back, he considers breaking things off with Paul, but he doesn’t. He also considers telling him about sleeping with Louis, but he doesn't. They aren’t exclusive. They aren’t official. They’ve only been on a handful of dates. 

Anna’s first birthday falls on a Wednesday, and when he gets home from work, he sets up his laptop in the kitchen while he makes dinner, ready to accept the Skype call as soon as it comes in. 

The alert pops up before his laptop makes a sound, and Harry wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, clicking to answer. 

As usual, the screen is blank at first, and then the image comes through and he’s faced with a split screen. Tara and Penelope, Jacob and Clara holding Anna between them, and on the bottom right, Louis. 

Harry keeps his focus on the baby, and says, “Happy birthday, Anna!”

“Hope it’s okay we called everyone at once,” Clara says, bouncing Anna in her lap. “She’s likely to get cranky if we do multiple calls.”

“Yeah, she’d rather be crawling around on the floor,” Jacob says as Clara passes Anna to him. 

“It’s fine,” Louis says, and Harry nods. 

“Of course,” Tara adds as Penny blows kisses to her niece. 

It’s a short call, because Anna really doesn’t want to sit still for it, and since they all just saw each other, and Tara and Penny are technically on their honeymoon, there isn’t much to say. Harry makes it through most of the call without looking directly at Louis, but then he realizes that Louis can’t tell what he’s looking at, so he lets himself stare for a moment. 

Gorgeous as always, with unfairly thick silver hair that falls across his forehead, hiding his barely receding hairline, Louis doesn’t frown or scowl at him. He smiles almost the whole time because he probably never even looks at Harry. In fact, by the time the call is over and Harry closes his laptop, he feels thoroughly ignored. Though, he supposes he deserves it. 

He decides then to give things with Paul a fair shot. 

●▬●▬●

A fair shot with Paul actually takes Harry a few weeks to work up to. He spends his birthday alone because he doesn’t want to spring it on Paul and make him feel like he has to spend time with him, or worse, feel obligated to get him a gift. 

The time alone is enjoyable though, and it spurs Harry to book the trip to Italy that he’s always wanted to take. He decides to go during spring break, the second week of March, reserving a nice room within walking distance of everything, but especially close to the Trevi Fountain, which he’s hoping will allow him to see it when it isn’t so crowded. 

After he finishes planning his trip, he texts Paul to ask him on a date. They meet for lunch on Sunday and spend the afternoon at Harry's house. Paul walks with him around his neighborhood, and they make out for a bit while they’re supposed to be watching a movie, but it doesn’t go any further. When Paul leaves, he asks Harry out for Valentine’s Day, and when Harry agrees, Paul promises to make it a memorable date. 

Harry spends the days leading up to Valentine’s Day wondering what Paul will be like in bed, assuming that’s what’s meant to be memorable about their date. 

It turns out that neither the date nor the sex are very memorable. They go out for dinner, drink wine, eat chocolate cake, and go back to Paul’s apartment where they exchange hand jobs. By no means is it the worst Valentine’s Day in Harry’s experience, but it’s far from memorable. 

Despite the boring date, Harry decides not to give up. Maybe Valentine’s Day was too much pressure. Maybe he expected too much from Paul. 

●▬●▬●

Three weeks, four boring restaurants, two boring handjobs, and one boring blow job later, Harry takes off for Italy, fully planning to end things with Paul the second he gets back home. He would’ve broken things off before he left, but when he finally made the decision, it was Monday morning, he was on the way to the airport, and Paul was at work. 

After checking his bag, Harry goes through security, with a plan to grade midterms while on the plane. He’s well prepared for a long flight, wearing comfy sweatpants and a hoodie, with a neck pillow, and headphones, plus some new books on his tablet in case he finishes his grading or needs a break. 

He makes his way onto the plane, even happier about his last minute decision to upgrade to business class. 

When the flight attendants finish their routine, pointing to the exits and demonstrating the oxygen masks, there’s a slight crackle through the speaker, and then, “Good morning, passengers. Welcome on board…” 

Harry doesn’t hear the rest. He closes his eyes, and leans his head back, trying to figure out whether or not to tell Louis he’s on his plane. 

Occasionally, Louis would fly from Charlotte to Atlanta to then fly elsewhere, but apparently he’s now flying internationally instead of from coast to coast like he used to. Must be nice, practically going on a vacation once a week. When the seatbelts sign goes off, the cabin crew make their first trip around, and Harry orders a Bloody Mary to help work up the courage to talk to Louis and apologize for running off. 

The flight attendant comes by to pick up his drink when he finishes it, and Harry says, “Excuse me, but… Captain Tomlinson, um… We know each other, but I wasn’t aware he flew for this airline. Is there a way you could tell him that Harry Styles, um… says hello?”

“Of course, Mister Styles,” the flight attendant says with a smile. “I’ll pass your message along.”

More than three hours later, after having coffee and grading midterms until his eyes hurt, Harry slides his laptop into his bag and stows it under his seat, reclining it a bit so that he can try to nap. He puts the eye mask on, and pulls the blanket up to his chin. 

“Harry?” Louis whispers, and Harry pulls the mask off, looking up at Louis in uniform, standing in the aisle beside his seat.

“I could’ve been asleep,” Harry says, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“You weren’t snoring.”

Harry takes a deep breath, and sits up. “I just wanted to let you know I was on the plane. Didn’t want you to be surprised if you came out here for your rest break.” 

“I’m on break now. I’m supposed to be sitting over there,” Louis nods towards the front of the business class section. “You’re going to Italy alone?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, watching as Louis brushes his silver hair off his forehead and adjusts his hat. “Rome and Florence. Birthday present to myself.”

“Nice,” Louis says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and nodding. 

“Do you fly internationally all the time?” Harry asks, wishing he didn’t. That was always Louis’ goal. He wanted to fly all over the world, and of course, he wanted Harry to come too. But joining him anywhere just wasn’t feasible with two kids and a full time teaching job, not to mention Harry’s own continuing education. Night classes at the university weren’t something he could just drop so he could fly to LA or Vegas or even New York. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, “Got sick of the west coast. I should, um… I should go sit.”

“Wait, Lou, I…” Looking around to make sure no one is listening, Harry lowers his voice and says, “I wanted to apologize. For, you know, taking off after, um… Penny’s wedding.”

Louis shakes his head, and leans down to softly say, “I guess we really are even now. I’ve got… I need to go sit. Get my rest. Regulations.”

Harry leans his seat back down, though there’s no way he’ll get any rest with Louis so close. Of course he’s flying internationally. Probably hops a plane from Charlotte to Atlanta when he flies out, just like he used to fly to New York before flying to California. But it’s a lot to digest, knowing that some of the dreams they used to share weren’t necessarily dependent on Harry’s presence. It hurts more than it should, thinking of Louis walking around Paris or Rome without him, or even with someone else.

With about a third of the flight left, and hours after he sat down, Louis goes back up to the cockpit. Harry finally uses the restroom after holding it for longer than he thought possible. He just couldn’t make himself stand up and take the chance of drawing Louis’ attention. 

The plane lands, and Harry tries not to listen to Louis’ voice as he tells the passengers the weather and thanks them for flying. Business class exits the plane first, and Louis stands there with the rest of the crew, saying goodbye to the passengers as they leave. 

Harry nods and waves, giving him a tight lipped smile, shoulders sagging with relief when he walks into the airport away from Louis, and towards baggage claim. 

●▬●▬●

The room Harry reserved is small, but beautiful, with a window overlooking the street below. And though he left Atlanta early, with the time zones and the flight, it’s nearing midnight when he checks in. And he’s tired. Hopefully, his jet lag won’t be too bad.

Harry wakes before the sunrise, which is much earlier than he’d like, but he forces himself out of bed and into the shower. If he’s up, he might as well be outside enjoying the sights, and maybe he’ll beat the crowds. He has three full days before he has to board a plane Friday morning to go back home, and he wants to make the most of his time. The only actual plans he has are for Wednesday, when he’ll take a train from Rome to Florence, and spend the day there. 

Downstairs they offer free coffee, and Harry takes one with him, hoping that it, along with his cardigan, will be enough to keep him warm in the early morning air. It’s not a long walk to the Trevi Fountain—according to his map, it’s not a long walk to anywhere—but Harry has his comfortable sneakers on, ready for whatever the day may bring. 

He was right, this early there aren’t many other people around. Or at least, not nearly as many as he’s seen in pictures of the area. There are a few, though, and Harry tries to steer clear, assuming that they want to be left alone. 

“Harry?” Louis’ voice startles him, and he sloshes his now luke-warm coffee onto his hand.

“Oops,” Harry says, switching his cup to his other hand, and sucking the coffee off of his fingers. 

“Hi,” Louis says, nodding at Harry’s cup. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you spill.”

“It’s not hot. It’s okay,” Harry says, squinting through his sunglasses. “What are you doing here?”

“Woke up early. Came to see the fountain,” Louis says, tucking his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. 

“Don’t you stay at, like, the hotel near the airport?” Harry asks, briefly wondering if Louis is going to tell him he’s staying next door to him at his little hotel up the street.

“Yeah, there’s actually a Best Western. Pool and all,” Louis says with a quiet laugh. “Took a cab. I’ll go back tonight, but I’m here ’til Thursday morning, so I figured I’d walk around today. Planning to take the train to Florence tomorrow.”

“Seriously?” Harry sips his coffee, and when Louis wrinkles his brow and nods, Harry says, “I’m going to Florence tomorrow.”

“Oh, I— I didn’t know,” Louis says, looking towards the fountain and shrugging his shoulders.

Harry snorts quietly. “How would you know? This is just… This is what happens to me. My ex-husband appears wherever I go.”

Scoffing, Louis pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. It makes his receding hairline more visible, and Harry kind of wants to trace it with his fingertip. “It’s not like I followed you here. I flew the damn plane.”

“No, um… Sorry. I know you’re not, like, doing it on purpose. I didn’t mean to accuse you—”

“I know, Harry,” Louis says, blue eyes sparkling in the early morning sunlight. He bites his lip, tipping his head to the side. “What are you doing after this?”

“Breakfast, I think. Why?”

“Well… We could have breakfast together,” Louis offers, closing his eyes like he’s not looking forward to hearing Harry's answer. 

“Louis,” Harry says, sighing and sipping his coffee to give himself a chance to think. “I don't—”

“It’s fine,” Louis says. “I’ve actually been here for a while, and I’ve seen it before, so I’ll just…” He jerks his thumbs over his shoulder and turns, putting his sunglasses back on, and walking away. 

Harry watches him for a moment, then calls out, “Lou! Wait!”

Slowly, Louis turns around, sliding his hands from his pockets to rest on his hips. “What?”

“You’ve been here before?” Harry asks, hoping Louis’ll understand his offer.

“Yeah,” Louis says, taking a few steps closer. “Twice. Got rained on last time. First time there were like a billion people here.”

“So, this is your first good time?”

“It’s alright, I guess,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips. “Company kind of sucks, but—”

“Hilarious.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Harry shakes his head. “Have you been anywhere else here?”

“Yeah, the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica,” Louis says, then he points behind him. “And a little place back there where I had coffee last time.”

“Have you been to the park, um… the Villa Borghese?” Harry asks, hoping he pronounced it correctly. 

“No, I haven’t— Well, I haven’t done much, like I said. Just in between flights, and I usually only have one full day.” 

Harry hesitates, but then holds his mostly empty coffee cup up, and asks, “Do you want to get coffee? And like, a pastry or something?”

“Sure,” Louis says, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Then what? Your park? Garden?”

“Villa Borghese?” Harry tries again, and possibly does a worse job pronouncing it. “It’s not far, I think. But the gardens are large. I could spend all day there, probably, so if you don’t want—”

“We’ll see what happens,” Louis says, reaching out and tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s cardigan. “You warm enough?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, walking beside him, glancing over at Louis’ cozy looking sweatshirt. “You?”

Louis nods, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Supposed to warm up later. But coffee first, yeah?”

They pick up coffee and pastries from the place Louis mentioned, arguing about whether to call them brioche or cornetto, but it’s good natured bickering, and it ends when Louis starts listing different ways to mispronounce croissant. It makes the walk to the gardens pass by, and they arrive before Harry finishes his coffee, but he finds that when they reach the Spanish Steps, and he stops to take some pictures, that he hasn’t paid attention to anything on the way. 

“You’re sort of a distraction,” Harry says, starting up the steps. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks, keeping up with him, even when Harry quickens his pace. 

“I was too busy arguing in favor of ‘cornetto’ and didn’t really see anything else while we were walking.”

Louis laughs, hurrying ahead. He looks back over his shoulder, silver hair shining in the sun, and says, “Well, you’re a total distraction.”

“I’m not,” Harry says, speeding up so they’re side by side again. 

Louis ignores him, but Harry lets it go. He doesn’t want to argue. At the top of the steps, they turn around to see the city. There are a lot more people around, though it hasn’t been that long since they left the fountain, and Harry wants to hurry to beat the crowds. 

“Hey,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him to a stop. “Want some chestnuts?”

“Ooh…” Harry bites his lip and says, “Yes, please. But let’s share.”

Louis pays before Harry can offer, and they enter the garden. The scent of roasting chestnuts takes Harry back to a time long before they had children, when Louis was still flying mostly at night, up and down the east coast. 

They saved their pennies for months, Louis requested three days off in a row around Harry's birthday, and they flew standby to New York, where they couldn’t afford to do much but walk around. The room they rented was sparse and not well heated, but they made their own warmth. On the night of Harry’s birthday, as they walked hand in hand back to the hotel, they stopped for roasted chestnuts. Harry’d never had them before, and Louis started tossing them at him, laughing every time Harry would catch one in his open mouth. 

While they walk through the gardens, they eat like adults. No one tosses anything until the very last chestnut, which Louis throws into the air and catches in his mouth, chomping exaggeratedly, and winking at Harry. 

On Harry’s list of things he’d like to see today are the Pincio, or rather the view of Rome from there, and if he has to choose one museum, the Etruscan Museum at the Villa Giulia. He’s always had a thing for centaurs, and he wonders if Louis will remember that, if they get to walk through and look at the collection. Other than that, he’s happy just to spend the day outside, exploring the gardens. Maybe they can rent bikes. Maybe a bicycle built for two. Harry’s steps stutter, but he stops himself before he trips and falls.

“Alright?” Louis asks, gently cupping Harry’s elbow. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, checking the bikes as they walk past them. They’d better just walk. “You know how it is. I can’t really have a fun time unless I fall down first.”

“Is that how it is?” Louis asks, pushing his sunglasses into his hair, and stepping aside. He pulls a map from his pocket and unfolds it.

“Where’d you get that?” 

“When we walked in,” Louis says, tracing the map with his fingertip. “Did you not grab one?”

“Apparently not.”

“Okay, well, museum first.” Pointing in what Harry hopes is the right direction, Louis looks over and says, “Heard there’s a centaur.”

●▬●▬●

“Somebody broke off his willy,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear while he’s looking at the Centaur of Vulci, and Harry has to cover his mouth to keep his laughter in. He elbows Louis in the ribs, and Louis dramatically bends over, holding his stomach as if Harry damaged his internal organs. 

While the museum’s collection is quite interesting, Harry is enthralled by the building itself. Especially the ceiling of the portico. He’s so busy looking up that he almost runs into someone else doing the same thing and walking in the opposite direction. Louis steers him out of the way with a gentle hand on his lower back, which he shoves in his pocket as soon as Harry realizes what’s happening and watches where he’s going again. 

They spend hours in the Villa Giulia, and stop for gelato at a stand on their way to the Pincio. 

“Do you want to get lunch?” Louis asks, stepping closer to Harry and offering him a taste of his tiramisu gelato. 

Harry shakes his head, but at Louis’ disappointed expression, Harry says, “No, I mean. I don’t want to try your gelato. I’m kind of coffeed out for today. But we can get lunch. Maybe find some place on the way back to the— on the walk back.”

“Sounds good,” Louis says, and Harry wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. 

If they’re planning to have lunch together, they might as well spend the rest of the afternoon together, and if they’re planning to spend the afternoon together, they might as well have dinner together, and if they’re planning to have dinner together and they’re both planning to take the train to Florence in the morning, they might as well plan to spend all of tomorrow together, and if they’re planning to spend the whole next day together… they might as well spend the night together. 

The view of Rome is breathtaking, but Harry's mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Louis, and whether spending half a day in each other’s company without arguing could mean that they’re leaving the past behind them on their way to something better. Maybe it doesn’t matter how far apart they live. Maybe they could work. 

When he turns towards Louis, he finds Louis looking back at him, not at the view, and he moves instinctively, just as Louis reaches for his waist. 

Kissing his ex-husband in the middle of the day, in public, at one of the most popular places in Rome, while surrounded by hundreds of other tourists, is a contrast to the other kisses they’ve shared recently, in corridors or behind closed hotel room doors, but Harry can’t stop to think about it. Cradling Louis’ jaw, Harry rubs his thumbs over his scruff, pressing his lips to Louis’ once more before pulling back and nudging their noses together. 

Louis grins, taking Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “So… lunch?”

They walk back towards the Trevi Fountain holding hands, stopping now and then to kiss and pet the occasional cat. Apparently, there are cats everywhere in Rome. Harry had no idea. 

After snacking most of the morning, they have a light lunch, and Harry orders a glass of wine hoping that it’ll help him convince himself to ask Louis to spend the night. It turns out to be unnecessary to convince Louis of anything, because Harry stops to buy souvenir after souvenir, and soon enough can’t carry it all. When they reach his hotel it’s late afternoon, they’ve been out all day, and Harry’s in need of a nap. Louis helps him carry everything up the stairs to his room, and once they’re inside Harry’s room, asking Louis to stay isn’t nearly as difficult as Harry thought it’d be.

“I was thinking,” Louis says, lining up Harry’s purchases on the little sofa beside the window. He pulls back the curtain, and a beam of sunlight falls across his face. “What time is your train tomorrow?”

“Spend the night with me,” Harry says, stepping closer when Louis drops the curtain and stares at him. He searches Louis’ face for an answer as he attempts to explain his thoughts. “We don’t— We don’t have to— You don’t have to. I just thought, you know, since we’re pretty much going to be together all day tomorrow. Unless you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Grabbing the sides of Harry’s cardigan, Louis pulls and Harry stumbles into a kiss, holding onto Louis’ shoulders, and tightening his grip when Louis whispers against his lips, “Always want to.”

The hotel room is so small that Harry only has to take a single step backwards before he bumps into the bed, and when he lets himself fall, he takes Louis with him, twisting so that they land on their sides, facing each other. 

“Will you nap with me?” Harry asks, twirling the ends of Louis’ hair in his fingertips. 

“Will you have dinner with me after?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, Louis kisses him softly. “All my clothes are at my hotel.”

“You can wear something of mine,” Harry offers, thinking about what he brought with him. “I always over pack.”

“I know,” Louis says, wrinkles beside his eyes deepening with his smile. 

●▬●▬●

A nap is just what Harry needed. He wakes up refreshed and ravenous. As soon as they get out of bed, and brush their teeth—Louis borrows his toothbrush and Harry doesn’t even care—they head downstairs and to the fountain again, just as the sun is setting. 

At the back of the crowd, standing behind Louis with his hands on his hips, and his chest pressed to his back, Harry slouches and rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder. 

“Kind of want to go swimming in there,” Louis says, and Harry snorts quietly. 

“You could go back to the Best Western,” Harry says, turning his head and kissing beneath Louis’ ear. “Supposedly there’s a pool.”

“Don’t want to go back there.” Shaking his head, Louis says, “I’ll behave. No swimming in fountains.”

“Should we just walk and figure out where to eat?” 

“Yeah, I think that’s best. I don’t really care what we eat,” Louis says, stepping away and taking Harry’s hand. “You want wine?”

“Of course,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand.

When he planned his trip to Italy, Harry figured when he returned home, he’d tell people about his vacation in terms of what foods he ate. He thought he’d spend a lot of time eating, thinking about eating, deciding what to eat, reminiscing about meals after finishing them. Clearly that won’t be the case, as he barely remembers what he’s eating while he’s eating it.

He’s too distracted by Louis, and the indulgent way he laughs every time Harry makes a bad pun, his smile as he tips his glass back and sips his wine, the way the candlelight flickers in his eyes and seems to make his silver hair shine. He’s beautiful, and Harry’s lucky he manages to get his fork to his mouth. If the food doesn’t fall off, it’s a bonus. 

After they leave the restaurant, they go back to the fountain. It’s becoming Harry’s favorite place. There aren’t as many people, though it’s still quite crowded, so maybe it’s not so much the view of the fountain, but who he’s with. 

Yawning, Harry covers his mouth. He sighs, running his hand through his tangled hair, and says, “I think I might be done for today.”

“Me too,” Louis says, turning to face him. “Can we… I can still go back to my hotel, if you want. I’m not feeling up to, um…” 

“I don’t expect…” Harry clears his throat, leaning in to kiss Louis’ cheek, and whisper in his ear, “We can just sleep.”

And that’s what they do. After taking turns in the shower, they climb into bed, with Louis wearing a borrowed pair of Harry’s boxers. There are soft kisses and caresses, but nothing more than that, both of them too tired for anything else. Harry rolls over to sleep on his stomach, and Louis cuddles up to his side, draping his arm over Harry’s back, and sharing his pillow.

●▬●▬●

They leave early, before the sun, and Harry falls asleep on the train, with his head on Louis’ shoulder. He wakes an hour and a half later, embarrassed by the drool in the corner of his mouth and the mark on his face from the seam of Louis’ borrowed sweater. 

When they walk out of the train station, it’s still fairly early in the morning, but there are people about, and on the short walk to the Piazza del Duomo, Harry spots half a dozen priests.

“Never really thought I had a thing for, you know, priests, but…” Harry turns his head to watch the last one walk by, and Louis pinches his bum. 

“Stop that,” Louis says, linking their hands together. 

“What?” Laughing, Harry bumps his hip into Louis’ and says, “Maybe it’s the collar.”

“Jesus,” Louis says, shaking his head.

“No,  _ priests,” _ Harry says.

“Are you planning to be like this all day?”

“Depends. Are we going to see priests everywhere we go?” 

Louis scoffs and drops his hand, speeding up to walk in front of Harry. Once he takes a moment to admire the way Louis looks wearing his borrowed jeans and sweater, Harry hurries to catch up to him.

“Are you jealous?” Harry asks, smirking as he takes Louis’ hand. 

“No, I just…” Louis trails off, frowning, and when he doesn’t say anything else, Harry changes the subject. 

“Do you want to go inside the Baptistery?” 

“Don’t we need reservations?” Louis asks as Harry pulls him towards the ticket office. 

Because they’re early, they’re able to enter the bell tower immediately, and with all of the steps, Harry thinks they made the right decision to climb to the top of Giotto’s Campanile first. The stairways are narrow, and they take turns leading the way, pausing on the different terraces as they climb, to take in the changing view. 

At the top, they walk around to the west side of the tower, so that the sun is behind them. Harry takes his sweater off, tying it around his waist, and Louis follows suit. The temperature has risen quickly, and it’s supposed to get even warmer.

“Beautiful,” Harry says, lifting his phone to take a picture through the protective fencing. He turns to see Louis holding his phone up. 

“Sorry,” Louis says, lowering his phone and looking at the screen. “Figured you’d want a picture of yourself at the top. I can delete it.”

Harry peeks at the picture of him squinting while taking his own picture of the view below. “Get a better one.”

Louis waits for a woman around their age to pass by, and Harry poses, pointing at the Duomo, eyes wide and mouth open in a cheesy grin. 

“I can take one of you two together,” the woman offers, and Louis glances back at Harry. He nods and Louis hands her his phone, moving to stand beside him. “Okay, one silly, one serious.”

They both point and laugh and when she’s satisfied, she says, “Alright, nice smiles.”

Looping his arm around Louis’ waist, Harry pulls him closer, and Louis leans into him. 

“Perfect,” she says, giving Louis his phone. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re a lovely couple. Very photogenic.”

“Oh, um…” Louis takes his phone, biting his lip.

“Thank you,” Harry says to the woman, waving as she disappears down the stairs inside the tower. There’s no need for Louis to correct her when they’re clearly acting like a couple, even if they’re not together. He looks over Louis’ shoulder at the picture. “It’s a good shot.”

“Didn’t get a chance to fix my hair,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his hair, but the wind blows it around again. 

“By the end of today, we’re both going to be a mess,” Harry says, checking to be sure no one’s watching them before he turns Louis around and kisses him. “I don’t mind.”

“You say that now,” Louis says, walking away and starting down the stairs. 

Trying to save energy for the rest of the day, Harry stays quiet for the trip back down the more than four hundred stairs, and Louis does too. When they step back outside into the sunlight, they walk over to the Baptistery. 

“The Gates of Paradise, Lou,” Harry says, pulling out his phone. “Take my picture?”

“Sure, babe,” Louis says absentmindedly, eyes darting up to meet Harry’s a second later. 

Harry shakes his head. When they were together, it was always ‘baby’, but ‘babe’ was something Louis might’ve called anyone. The difference should be negligible, but it bothers Harry, not that he would mention it. He stands in front of the gilded bronze doors, hands behind his back, feet together, and smiles for the camera.

“One more. Hold on,” Louis says, tapping the button. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry says to a man around Jacob’s age, standing nearby and taking pictures of his children. “Could you take one of us together?”

They exchange photos. He takes a picture of Louis and Harry in front of the Porta del Paradiso, and Harry takes one of the guy with his kids. And then they head inside the Baptistery. 

Florence holds far too much to see in one day, but they see a lot of it. And almost everywhere they go, they find someone to take pictures of them together. 

By the time they board the train to return to Rome, they’re exhausted and even with reapplying sunscreen, Harry’s nose and forehead are sunburned. He should’ve thought to wear a hat. Or buy one. 

On the train ride back, Harry stays awake, but only because Louis falls asleep, head on Harry’s shoulder, hand on Harry’s thigh. Harry watches him, wondering what’ll happen when Louis flies out the next morning. 

In all of the time they’ve spent together over the last few days, they haven’t spoken about the future, or what any of this means, if it means anything. They’ve hardly even discussed their kids, other than when Harry was buying them souvenirs. Conversations have been about wine and food, history and art, the weather… everything but what happened after Penny’s wedding, or what happened after Anna was born, or what happened to their marriage. 

Back at Harry’s hotel, they take turns in the shower again, and when Harry steps into the room, he leaves the towel hanging in the bathroom. 

“Uh…” Louis sets his phone on the small table beside the bed, watching as Harry crosses the room and climbs beneath the sheets. He reaches under the blankets, wiggling a bit, and a moment later, his borrowed boxers hit the floor. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Harry says, laying on his side, and tracing circles around Louis’ nipple. “I was thinking, if you’re not too tired, maybe we could…”

“We could,” Louis agrees, rolling over to face him. “I’m not too tired.”

“Good,” Harry says softly, moving closer to press his lips against Louis’ and tangle their legs together below the blankets. “I, um… I don’t have any lube or condoms or anything.”

“Never stopped us before,” Louis mutters, scooting over until their stomachs touch, and taking Harry’s lips in a soft kiss.

As their kisses grow heated, Louis pushes Harry onto his back, settling between his legs, and Harry goes where Louis takes him. The last two times they’ve been together—the only times they’ve been together since their split—Harry’s been the one to take the lead, which would be fine, but for the way things have ended up afterwards. This time feels different, though Harry isn’t sure why.

It reminds him of the occasions during their marriage, when Louis would ask his mom to take the kids on a weekend, and then he’d spend all of Saturday night worshipping Harry’s body. When Louis drags his lips over Harry’s chest, it feels the same as it did all those years before. He sucks Harry’s nipples into his mouth, one at a time, until they’re tender and wet and harden when he blows on them. Then he kisses over Harry’s stomach, and dips his tongue into Harry’s belly button, making him giggle. His knees bend as he curls his body at the tickling touch. 

“Just seeing if you're paying attention,” Louis mumbles, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s dick, and darting his tongue out to lick the tip. 

Harry whines, wanting more than just the tease of Louis’ mouth, and Louis doesn’t hesitate, sucking on the head before tightening his lips around him and sliding down. He scratches his nails down the back of Harry’s thighs, the hair all over his body stands up, and Harry’s legs try to close reflexively. 

Pulling off, Louis laughs quietly, then licks the underside of his dick, spreading Harry’s thighs apart again. “Porta del Paradiso.”

“What?” Harry asks, looking down at Louis between his legs.

“The Gates of Paradise,” Louis says with a smirk, raising his eyebrows and pushing Harry’s knees to his chest. 

“Oh my god…”

With Louis’ mouth on him, he has a hard time remembering why things didn’t work out between them. And when Louis is eating him out greedily, holding him open with his hands and moaning as he tastes him, like the dirtiest part of him is sweet and he can’t get enough, Harry regrets every second they’ve spent apart over the last fourteen years. 

Barely stroking himself, he comes on Louis’ tongue, but Louis doesn’t stop, slowly licking over his rim as Harry rides out his orgasm. Then he gets to his knees, jerking himself off, fucking into his own hand. Eyes dark and locked on Harry’s face, Louis’ expression is familiar, throwing Harry's mind back as he recalls the whispered words of love and tender kisses that always followed. As Louis’ hips stutter out of control, and his release mixes with Harry’s, making a mess of his stomach, Louis’ silence brings Harry to the present moment and he brushes the memories aside. 

“Can’t believe you said that,” Harry says when Louis comes back from the bathroom smelling like toothpaste and carrying a damp washcloth. 

“What?”

“Porta del Paradiso,” Harry says, carefully pronouncing every syllable. 

Louis laughs, wiping Harry clean, and returning the washcloth to the bathroom. He climbs into the bed, and pulls the blankets over them. When Harry rolls over onto his stomach, Louis cuddles up to his side, grabbing the back of Harry’s thigh and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Porta del Paradiso,” Louis says, kissing Harry’s shoulder. “Paradise is between your thighs.”

●▬●▬●

Harry wakes up Thursday morning to the sound of the shower, instantly thinking of the previous night, and what went unsaid. Maybe Louis’ comments haven’t been just talk in the heat of the moment. Though they probably are. After all, they’re on vacation, and Louis is likely just wrapped up in it. Even if Louis wants more, with Harry living in Atlanta now, they’re so far away from each other that they’d probably see each other twice a month, if that. Not that the distance is a complete dealbreaker, but it would make things difficult. 

He sits up, blanket pooling in his lap, and reaches for his phone to check the time, finding a text from Paul that says he misses Harry and can't wait to see him when he gets back. Cringing, Harry types out, “Can we talk when I get home?” 

Even if things aren’t going to change between him and Louis, he should come clean about Paul. Hopefully Louis won’t be too upset. Laying back down, Harry drums his fingers on his bare chest, trying to figure out what exactly to say.

“Hey,” Louis says, toweling his hair dry. He bends over to pick up his clothes off the floor, and says, “Needed the shower to wake up. Feel like I have a million things to do to get to the airport.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, scratching at the hair below his belly button. He’s going to need another shower too.

Louis pulls on his pants, and crawls onto the bed on all fours, leaning down to kiss Harry’s stomach. “Don’t be. But I need to leave.” 

Beside his leg, Harry’s phone buzzes, and he reaches for it, but Louis is right there, face almost level with the phone screen. 

Frowning and sitting back on his knees, Louis asks, “Who’s Paul ‘ice skate emoji’ and why is he offering to pick you up at the airport with a kiss emoji?”

“Um…” Harry pushes himself up to lean against the headboard, searching for the right words.

“Wow,” Louis says, hopping off the bed and tugging his sweatshirt over his head. “Wow. You’re a fucking hypocrite, aren’t you?”

“I… I don’t… Paul is just a guy,” Harry says, throwing back the covers and getting to his feet. “We met at Christmas and—”

“It’s the middle of fucking March, Harry! Jesus Christ! When we were in California, too?”

“You and what’s-his-name were together for like four months when we slept together!”

“Slept together? That’s all this is to you?” 

“No!” Harry takes a breath and says, “I was going to tell you about Paul. I just didn’t know how.”

“You’ve had three days to say something while we’ve been here,” Louis says, shoving his feet into his sneakers and picking up his wallet from the little table beside the bed. “This is— This is it. We might have to see each other because of the kids, but you and me? Done.” 

“Louis, wait,” Harry says, fishing his jeans from under the bed and stepping into them while Louis spins in circles like he’s making sure he isn’t leaving anything behind. “This is… I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“I’ve got to go fly a goddamn plane,” Louis says, stalking towards the door. He opens it and steps out into the hall. 

The door slams, and Harry drops down onto the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands. He should’ve been honest with Louis from the start, but that goes against more than three decades of ingrained habits, of trying to make the best of things, of not wanting to ruin the short time they had together before Louis had to leave again. 

●▬●▬●

Harry spends his last day in Rome wandering around the city. He walks back to the Villa Borghese and strolls through the gardens, sticking to the green areas, and avoiding the museums and more crowded spots. Late that night, he leaves his hotel room and goes to the Trevi Fountain when most of the other tourists have left, and he takes a few pictures with his phone. Back in his room, he packs his bags, thankful that he thought to leave space in his suitcase for souvenirs. 

At the airport Friday morning, after he goes through security, and gets a cup of coffee, Harry waits at the gate, looking over the pictures in his phone. It’s a stupid thing to do; it only makes him angry. Mostly that anger is directed inward. There are pictures of them together all over Florence, but for every image of the two of them standing hand in hand or with their arms around each other or posing like statues, there are photographs of Harry alone. Almost as if Louis knew he’d be gone. 

As Harry scrolls back to the beginning of their day and the first pictures from that morning, he lets out a hollow chuckle. There are three pictures of the golden doors of the Gate of Paradise: one of he and Louis together, smiling, arms around each other’s waists; one of Harry alone, wide grin on his face; and one close up shot of Harry from his waist to his knees that’s cropped so tightly on his thighs he can hardly see the gilded doors behind him. 

Harry rolls his eyes, tucking his phone into his pocket. The flight home is uneventful. No ex-husbands in the cockpit this time. And after he steps off the plane, and collects his suitcase at baggage claim, Harry takes a taxi home. 

The next day, he meets Paul for coffee and breaks things off, deciding to take some time to get to know his new city, his new neighborhood, and maybe even his new neighbors, before he tries dating again. 

To curb his loneliness, he adopts a cat. She’s an older cat, with sleek black fur, and golden eyes, and she’s lived at the shelter for a long while. Her name is Flora, and it’s close enough to Florence that Harry takes it as a sign. 

The rest of the spring semester passes slowly. In his spare time, Harry unpacks, and rearranges furniture, walking around his neighborhood most evenings, and stopping to chat with anyone he sees. He’d like to live there longterm, and it’d be nice to at least know the people next door. 

●▬●▬●

When summer comes, Harry decides that what he needs is a hobby. He considers taking up painting, but if he’s going to paint anything it should probably be the walls of his house. So he signs up at one of the local yarn shops for crochet lessons, figuring that one yarn stick will be easier to learn than two. The woman behind the counter laughs at him goodnaturedly and tells him the difference between knitting needles and crochet hooks. 

Flora likes it. He crochets her little hats, which she doesn’t wear, but bats around the floor until they get lost under the couch where she can’t reach them. Then he makes her another. In July, when it’s too hot to be outside while the sun’s up, Harry learns to crochet amigurumi and makes her little toys. He branches out and makes some for Anna, and then he sets his goal a little higher, deciding to make Anna a blanket large enough to fit the bed that Jacob and Clara will move her to when she outgrows her crib. 

It’s the only project he plans to work on until it’s finished, and he chooses to do an afghan that he can make piece by piece. It’ll be easier to haul back and forth to Hook & Needle, where he goes on Thursday evenings for Crochet Club. 

In late July, when he’s finally making progress on Anna’s blanket, after yet another new member of the crochet class asks him on a date, and he politely turns her down, Harry goes home and Googles until he finds a dating app that fits his qualifications. All he wants is to meet a man around his age, who lives in the Atlanta area. Bonus points if he’s handsome. Must like cats. And children. 

Unfortunately, it’s slim pickings. He’s definitely not going to be someone’s sugar daddy. Or sugar baby for that matter. He swipes left again and again. Then stops. 

_ Louis. 55 year old pilot who wants someone to fly home to. _

Harry swipes right.

Nothing happens. Which makes sense considering that he just made his account. But it doesn’t make sense for Louis to be on a dating app for men in Atlanta. 

Before he can stop himself he’s downloading Facebook again and searching for Louis’ profile. He hasn’t looked in years because he can’t see anything. Neither of them had accounts when they were together, if Facebook even existed then. Harry doesn’t know. And he never uses it now, only keeping the account for things like this. He should feel ashamed, but he doesn’t. He clicks the little button and of course Louis is the type to list the city he lives in publicly. 

Atlanta, Georgia.

Harry’s own page still says Richmond, Virginia. He changes it quickly, then closes and deletes the app again.

It’s the next day before he realizes what he’s actually done. 

The summer classes he teaches are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and with the fall semester right around the corner, Harry wants to paint his living room before he’s teaching five days a week again. He chooses a warm yellow, hoping that any light or patchy places won’t be noticeable, and buys everything he needs to get the job done. 

After he finishes the first coat, he goes for a walk around his neighborhood to loosen up his muscles. When he gets back, he finds Louis leaning against a car parked in front of his house. 

“Is that how these apps work?” Harry asks, trying for witty. From Louis’ expression, he doesn’t hit the mark.

“Is this your house?” Louis pushes away from the car, stepping onto the sidewalk. “Do you really live here now?”

“Yeah, for about a year.” Harry narrows his eyes and asks, “How’d you find my house?”

“I asked Tara for your address.”

“Why her?”

Louis shrugs. “Thought she’d be the least likely to ask questions. I was right. She just forwarded your contact info.”

“I should have a talk with her, then. Privacy concerns,” Harry says. “How long have you been here?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

“No,” Harry says. “I mean in Atlanta.”

“Oh, um… About three years,” Louis says, taking a step towards Harry. “Right after Jacob and Clara’s wedding. Got on with a different airline, sold the house in Charlotte.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Harry says.

“I thought I did.”

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Why?” Louis asks, moving closer, but still far enough away in the afternoon sun that Harry has to imagine the blue of his eyes. His silver hair glints gold in the light and Harry wants to tuck the longer strands behind his ear. 

“I just said you didn’t tell me,” Harry says, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. “And it’s not like we talk, Louis. You know, between whatever we’ve… I haven’t heard from you.”

“Haven’t heard— Did you expect me to call or something?”

“No,” Harry says. “I just mean we haven’t kept up with, um… current events when we’ve seen each other. So I didn’t know.”

Louis huffs, blowing his hair off his forehead. “I meant why’d you swipe right on that damn app anyway.”

“Oh, um…” Harry looks down at his sneakers, rubbing the toe over the grass breaking through a crack in the sidewalk. “I don’t know.”

“You could’ve just… not,” Louis says. “It’s not a hookup app, Harry. I… I’m…”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean?”

“I don’t know. It was very sudden,” Harry says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “I saw your picture and just reacted.”

“By swiping right?” Louis asks.

Harry frowns. “I said I didn’t mean to.”

“You meant to swipe left?” Louis almost sounds disappointed.

“No,” Harry says slowly. “I didn’t mean— I don’t know what I meant, Louis!  _ Someone to fly home to?” _

“Oh,” Louis says. At least he has the decency to blush, since those were the words he used to say to Harry. That it didn’t matter where he was, as long as he had Harry to fly home to. It hurt seeing them on the screen like that, as if they could apply to anyone. As if Harry was easily replaceable. “Well, obviously I didn’t think you’d see it.”

“Obviously!” Harry throws his hands in the air, fumbling for his keys and stomping past Louis on the sidewalk up to his house.

“I’m always— I’m always looking for another you,” Louis says, voice getting closer and quieter. “Stupid of me. It’s why I decided to leave North Carolina.”

“What?” Harry stands on his front porch, in the open door to his house, looking down at Louis, and feeling like he might throw up.

“I listed the house and started looking for another job three years ago after… after Owen and I broke up and called off our wedding. That house would always be yours. That state. Hell, the whole southeast now,” Louis says with a short laugh. 

It’s incredibly hot and humid out, and Harry’s dripping sweat. Scratching at the short hairs on the back of his neck, he says, “I didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened with your— your fiancé.”

“Not directly, no.”

“Or indirectly,” Harry says, clenching his jaw. Before today, if someone asked him, there’s no way he’d be able to recall Louis’ ex-fiancé’s name, though his general existence was harder to forget.

“You stopped talking to me,” Louis says, climbing the few steps to Harry’s porch. “I was trying to move on, thinking we’d at least still be friends, and you cut me out completely.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Harry asks, refusing to move back as Louis comes closer. “Act like I was happy to see you married to someone else? Really married? Since our marriage was all pretend, apparently.”

“Harry, our marriage was the most real part of my life,” Louis says quietly, meeting Harry’s eyes. “But you left me. And then, after Anna was born, and in California, even Italy… You made it clear that we were—”

“Nothing was clear!” Harry shouts, clapping his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes. “You left. Twice.”

“For work! I left for work,” Louis says. 

“And I went home.” 

“You left California,” Louis says, as if they’re keeping score. 

Harry sighs and walks into his house. With the windows open so the paint can dry, he has the air conditioning off, and his house isn’t much cooler than it is outside. “Yeah, and before that, you slept with me while you were seeing someone else. You cheated on him with me!”

“We were only together for a little while, Harry! And you didn’t let me explain,” Louis says, pushing past him into the living room, stopping and turning to face him. 

“I guess you’re coming in then,” Harry says, closing the screen door.

“And!” Louis says, raising his voice. “You did the same thing! Twice!” 

“It hardly counts when—” Harry cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Taking a deep breath, Louis says, “Hardly counts?”

“I met Paul in December—”

“But it hardly counts. Right.”

“Let me talk, if you want me to explain,” Harry says, propping his hands on his hips while he steps out of his sneakers and kicks them out of the way, wiggling his toes. “It wasn’t anything serious. It was… When we were in California, I’d been on a few dates with him, but that was all. It was a casual thing. We  _ never  _ said we were exclusive. And when I left for Italy, I was already planning to end things with him. I was trying to figure out how to tell you that morning in Rome. Right before you left.”

Louis stares at him for so long that Harry feels self-conscious, but eventually he says, “I tried to keep my distance the first time, but… You… It didn’t feel like cheating because it was you. You know I’m never going to tell you no. You have to know I’m always going to choose you.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry huffs, heading for the kitchen to wash his hands and splash some cool water on his face. Back then Harry never felt like the first choice.

“I’m not talking about my job,” Louis says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m saying that, if you… You kissed me. You initiated things, and I… I couldn’t say no. Not to you.”

Harry reaches for a kitchen towel, drying his face and hands. He sighs, remembering how pushy he was that night, how desperately he wanted to be with Louis, how afraid he was of being rejected. “I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly give you the opportunity to say no. I just didn’t think.”

Looking down at his hands, turning them over, Louis asks, “What were you thinking would happen?”

“Which time?” Harry asks, and when Louis shrugs, Harry says, “I don’t know, Lou. The first time, I thought maybe we could have… something. In California, I guess I thought you were just getting me back for throwing myself at you, like you said. It wasn’t until Italy that I thought maybe we could try to be—”

“I wanted you to come back to me,” Louis says, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. “Every time. All the time.”

“Lou… You never said.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Louis asks. Moving closer, Louis touches his knuckle to the back of Harry’s hand. “I never wanted you to leave in the first place, Harry.”

“Louis, I…” Harry closes his eyes. They should’ve fought harder for each other. They should’ve  _ talked. _

“Think of you whenever I fly over Richmond. It’ll be hard to stop thinking about you, with you right here,” Louis says. “I guess I’ll have to move again. Maybe further west this time.”

Glancing down at Louis’ hand inches from his, Harry says, “Louis, you don’t have to move. It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It  _ does _ have to be like that,” Louis says, voice sharp, and then he adds, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, Harry. Unless you want me back.”

Harry stills, staring at him, mouth agape. That’s all he wants. He breathes out, answering instinctively, “Yes.”

“Wait! Really?” Louis looks around the room, but it’s just the two of them there. “Harry, don’t joke about—” 

“I’m not!” Harry rushes out. “I wouldn’t. Wanted to tell you in Italy.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I wanted… I wanted to start again. But it’s not just that. I made a mistake,” Harry says, holding his hands to his mouth as it hits him. “Oh, Lou, I’m sorry.”

“Harry, it’s—”

“I know it’s too late. God, it’s been fourteen years!” Harry rakes his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “But I would. I’d change my mind, if I could.”

“Baby,” Louis says, cupping Harry’s elbows and pulling his hands away from his hair and face. “It’s not too late.”

Swallowing hard, Harry shakes his head, thinking of the way he left Louis, and how shocked and brokenhearted he must have been. “Louis, you can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Louis scowls, lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows deepening. “Can’t love you? I haven’t stopped for thirty-five years.”

“Lou…” Harry chokes on a sob. Hearing that after so long, even if he might’ve suspected, is overwhelming and he can barely process it.

Shushing him, Louis opens his arms, and Harry tucks himself into a hug. They stand there, holding each other, while Harry’s tears soak into Louis’ shirt. When he can breathe properly again and his hiccuping sobs have faded, Louis combs the tips of his fingers through the hair at Harry’s nape, and Harry lifts his head. Louis has always been a quiet crier, and his red-rimmed eyes almost set Harry off with a fresh round of tears. 

Resting his forehead against Harry’s, Louis whispers, “You want to sit? Talk?”

While he knows they’ll have to, it feels impossible. “Can’t. Can’t think.”

“You want me to go?” Louis pulls back, letting go of Harry and backing away.

“No,” Harry says immediately, but then he laughs. “Just remembered I have to do a second coat of paint. You don’t have to stay. Or help. You can go if you want. But I’d like you to stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Louis says, “I mean, I’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers.

“To be clear, I’m still mad at you. We have to…” Louis blows out a breath, rubbing his temples. “Harry, we have to talk.”

“No. I know. I know, Louis,” Harry says, wiping his eyes. It won’t be any easier this time, especially with Louis flying internationally. Hopefully, they can learn from their past mistakes. “Are you still four on, three off?” 

It was the schedule that he hated when the kids were young, getting home on Friday evenings after work, exhausted from the week. Louis there with pizza and noise and roughhousing with the kids, Saturday night dates which were almost always dinner and a movie and sex in their bed after the babysitter went home and the kids were asleep. Hurried and efficient. Condoms for easy clean up. And then Sundays. Yard work and laundry and chores and missing Louis before he was even gone. 

“Monday through Thursday, then I’m usually back early Friday,” Louis says, glancing up at him. “You know how it goes.”

“Not for a long time,” Harry says. 

Louis huffs quietly, and says, “Look, Harry. I don’t know where it all went wrong with us. I know I was working crazy hours and you were doing so much. Things were hard, but I never… I was always true to you. Always loved you.”

“Me too. I always loved you, too,” Harry says, and Louis sputters a laugh. 

“Why’d you leave me, then?” Louis asks, rubbing his thumb over his bare ring finger where it meets his knuckle. 

“Oh, lots of reasons. I’m sure they were valid at the time.” Harry touches his own left ring finger, thinking of the band in his jewelry box in the bedroom. “Resentment, mostly. And I could feel it build, you know? I didn’t want… all that love to turn to resentment. Didn’t want it to stop.”

“You left me because you thought you’d stop loving me  _ someday?” _ Louis asks. 

“I don't know, Louis. It made sense at the time.”

“It made sense?”

“I was unhappy with my job, going nonstop with school and the kids, and I never felt like I got a break. I applied for the position in Richmond sort of on a whim and—”

“On a whim?” Louis asks incredulously. “I thought— I thought you planned it.”

“No, my mom knew someone, and I figured I’d apply and then they wanted me to interview, and they offered me the job and it seemed like a sign,” Harry explains. He’d been so tired at the time. Exhausted, really. And it was like an escape at first, though it soon felt like anything but with all the extra work they had to do to follow through with their split.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this now,” Louis says. 

“You didn’t stop me! You let me go!” 

“What was I supposed to do? Tell you no?”

“Yes!” Harry shouts, tears springing to his eyes. “You were supposed to tell me  _ no.  _ You were supposed to fight it. Fight for me.”

“You didn’t give me a choice, Harry! I came home after being gone all week to an empty house and a fucking note.” Louis leaves the kitchen, and Harry’s certain he’s leaving for good, but he stops, sitting on the couch instead. “There’s no point in this.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and the silence afterwards hangs heavy. One of the reasons he kept so much to himself before was his fear that Louis would think he needed too much—that Louis would be the one to walk away. 

“No!” Louis turns and Harry watches him stand and cross the room to him. “No, I mean there’s no point in that. The past. It’s… We can talk about it, but we can’t change it. And I don’t want to sit here feeling like shit about something that happened almost fifteen years ago.”

“Oh,” Harry says, softer this time. 

“You’re serious about this?” Louis asks again, and Harry nods. 

“Very.” Harry moves into Louis’ space, holding his hands out. “Do you want me to sign something?”

“Haha.” Louis rolls his eyes, taking Harry in his arms, and tipping his chin up so they’re eye to eye. “Not today, but eventually.”

“Really?”

“Baby, come on,” Louis says. “Do I have to say it?” 

“No. Not right now, anyway.” Harry shakes his head, eyes dropping to Louis’ mouth. He’s missed that mouth. So he kisses it, because he can. Because Louis missed him too. But then he pulls back. “Sorry. It’s not… I don’t want you to think this is…”

“I know,” Louis says, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “And we can talk more. Keep talking. Always talking. But for now, second coat of paint?”

“You want to help?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah, I can tell you’ve done a shit job with the first coat,” Louis says, jerking away when Harry pokes him in the side. 

“I got the nice paint though,” Harry says, walking over and tapping the paint can. 

“Never living that down, am I?” Louis laughs, following him into the living room. 

“It was a learning experience,” Harry says, passing him the paint roller, assuming they’ll split the work the way they used to, and Harry will paint around the trim and mouldings with a brush while Louis rolls the walls. 

“Yeah, for me, you, the kids, and everyone in our old neighborhood.”

“I’m sure they all appreciate the knowledge,” Harry says as he climbs the ladder to paint along the trim around the ceiling. 

Working together makes the time pass much faster, and Harry finds it easier to talk about things when his hands are occupied and he has something else to focus on. 

“So what is this?” Louis asks while rolling the yellow paint on the wall beside the front window. “What do you want to call this… us?”

“Well, I don’t want to call you my ex-husband anymore,” Harry says, stretching to reach the corner. “Never liked saying that.”

“You realize you’re not answering my question, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Carefully, Harry climbs off the ladder, making sure not to let his brush drip or spill paint from the cup in his hand. “I want to be yours, Lou. I don’t care what we call it.”

Louis scrunches his nose and walks across the room, paint roller in hand, to kiss Harry once before he says, “Okay. As of right now, you’re my fiancé.”

“Louis!” Harry clutches his paint cup to his chest, gasping when he notices what he’s doing. “You can’t just be engaged to me without asking. We haven’t even started dating.”

With an unnecessary dramatic eye roll, Louis says, “Harry Styles, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met, and we were together for twenty-one years before you left me because you were afraid you’d stop loving me, which you say you haven’t done. I’ve spent like…” Furrowing his brow, Louis scratches his jaw, getting yellow paint in his beard, but Harry keeps quiet, watching his eyes dance as he thinks. “Shit, I don’t know, almost two-thirds of my life so head over heels in love with you, it’s embarrassing. So, if you want me to call you my boyfriend or something like that, fine. But if we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m going to marry you. We’ll get a license, and make it official, and I’ll put my ring back on, and we—”

“You still have it?” 

“Of course I still have it!” Louis shakes his head, going back to the paint tray to load his roller with more yellow paint. “Have you not been listening to me?”

“No, I have,” Harry says, moving his ladder over, but not climbing up just yet. “I just… I don’t know. I mean, I have mine too, but I didn’t know if—”

“Harry, the first year after you left, I never took it off.” Slowly, he rolls paint above the window, working while he talks. “I kept thinking you’d come back. I only stopped wearing it because Penny asked me why I still wore mine when you didn’t wear yours anymore.”

For the first time in forever, Harry thinks about the kids at that age, and how horrible it must’ve been for them to deal with their split. At the time, Harry rationalized it by telling himself that they hardly saw Louis anyway, except for the weekends, so every other weekend wasn’t much different. 

“Oh my god, Lou, the kids,” Harry says, setting his paint cup down on the ladder. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but we did okay, I think.”

“No, I mean… Well, yeah, we did a good job co-parenting, but I meant, should we tell them?” 

“That we  _ just _ decided to get back together? No,” Louis says, chuckling as he goes up onto his tiptoes to get close to the ceiling. “Not yet.”

Picking up his paint and climbing up the ladder, because he’s too afraid of the answer, and he’d rather not look at Louis when he asks, “Why not?” 

From the corner of his eye, Harry sees Louis turn around, smiling as he says, “I kind of want the chance to be with you for a little while without them knowing.”

“Okay,” Harry says, “Makes sense.”

“Baby, look at me,” Louis says, holding onto the ladder, face tipped up. “If you want to tell everyone right now, we can.”

“No,” Harry says, smiling down at him and shaking his head. “I want to wait.”

“Good,” Louis says, pursing his lips and waiting until Harry leans down and kisses him. 

When they finish painting the living room, Harry brings Flora out of the guest bedroom to meet him. It was a mistake, putting her in there, despite having her climbing tower, food, water, toys, and litter box in the room as well, because Harry’s yarn stash is stored in a basket beside the bed. At least Flora had fun, and she didn’t get to Anna’s blanket because it’s still in Harry’s car from Crochet Club the night before. Lesson learned. When he paints the kitchen, he’ll make sure there are no skeins of yarn for Flora to drag out and tangle herself up in.

●▬●▬●

Working through their problems from twenty years ago is harder than Harry thought it’d be, but he hadn’t actually thought much about it before. For so long when they were together, he kept things bottled up, unable to talk to Louis most days because he was in the air when Harry was free, or he was free when Harry was at work or in class or taking care of the kids. And when Louis was home, Harry didn’t want to bother him with the minutiae of day to day life.

By the time Friday rolled around, he couldn’t make himself explain about Jacob biting the little girl in his class who tried to take the toy truck he was playing with, when it happened on Tuesday. Or that Penny took her diaper off and peed on the couch because she thought it was funny. And complaining about his job or his homework seemed pointless when their time together was short. 

It feels silly to bring it all up now that their children are grown and Harry's had his PhD for years. 

“That’s not the point, baby,” Louis says that Sunday, after spending the entire weekend at Harry’s house. Resting his chin on his hands where they’re folded on Harry’s chest, Louis looks at him so seriously that Harry could almost forget what they were just doing, if they weren’t still naked and sweaty. “I wanted to know that stuff. I can’t believe Jacob was a biter. How did I miss that?”

“He never bit you or me or Penny,” Harry says. 

“Still. I wouldn’t ask you about your week if I didn’t want to know,” Louis says, shifting forward to kiss Harry's chin. “Maybe I should’ve asked more specific questions.”

Harry shakes his head. “You could’ve. Doesn’t mean I would’ve answered.”

“I would’ve quit my job,” Louis says. 

“That would’ve worked out well,” Harry says, combing Louis’ damp grey hair back off his forehead. 

“I’m just saying. Could’ve gone back to flying locally. Been home every night,” Louis says. 

“You would've been unhappy,” Harry says. “You wanted to see the world, Lou. It’s why you became a pilot.”

“Yeah, but I wanted  _ you _ more than anything, baby,” Louis says, pushing off of Harry’s chest to hold himself up with his arms on the mattress on either side of Harry’s head. He looms over Harry and Harry follows him with his eyes. “It’s why I used to say that stuff in the first place. It doesn’t matter where I go, as long as I have you to fly home to. There are pilots who do nothing but fly from Atlanta to Orlando and back. I could’ve done something like that.”

“I didn’t want to ask you to give up your dream job,” Harry says, looking up at him and wrapping his arms around Louis’ back. 

Lowering himself down, Louis sighs quietly and rolls off of Harry to lay facing him. “I have to leave in the morning. Early. Need to stop by my apartment before I go to the airport. I’m flying to London. I’ll be back Thursday night.”

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding and missing him already. 

“I have your number now. Thanks, Tara,” Louis says, grinning. “I’m going to send you so many messages.”

Louis sends him an invitation to WhatsApp, which Harry's never used before, but Louis says works better for him since he’s back and forth across the Atlantic. As soon as Harry downloads it, Louis introduces him to the voice message feature, and he finds himself listening to a twenty minute recording of Louis in his hotel room, talking about everything from the flight to London to the weather. He doesn’t stop recording while he changes out of his uniform and brushes his teeth, and Harry listens eagerly to the whole thing. Louis sends him so many messages that by Tuesday morning, Harry has to turn off his phone during class or risk being distracted while trying to teach by the vibrations in his pocket. 

While technology certainly wasn’t to blame for their breakup, it does make it easier to keep in touch. Fifteen years ago, Harry could text Louis while he was flying or in another state, but the cost was prohibitive. And Louis could call from his hotel, but again, the long distance charges, even with a prepaid calling card, were high and Harry never wanted to waste Louis’ time or money with anything more than a quick ‘goodnight’ after he spoke to the kids at bedtime. 

●▬●▬●

A few weeks into secretly dating his ex-husband, Harry has a key to Louis’ apartment, and Louis has a key to Harry’s house. They’ve already introduced each other to their neighbors, and Louis—who previously claimed to be a dog person—is currently laying on the floor of his apartment, in nothing but his boxers, with Flora on his chest, telling her she’s staying over at her Pop’s place because he couldn't bear to leave her alone for one night. 

“Do you think she misses me when I’m gone?” Louis asks, and Harry rolls his eyes, concentrating on counting each stitch until he’s at a place where he can stop and set his yarn and hook down. 

“I can’t believe you bought a litter box for your apartment,” Harry says instead of answering him. “It’s not like she’s going to be splitting her time between here and my house. She would’ve been perfectly happy to stay home tonight and have the place to herself.”

“You don’t think she would’ve been sad?” Louis asks, lifting Flora up to look at her face. He rubs his nose against hers and sets her on the floor beside him, rolling over and getting to his feet. 

Harry ignores his question again, but when Louis sits down beside him, Harry kisses his cheek and says, “I’m sad when you’re gone. Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” Louis says, scowling. His phone rings and he reaches for it, eyes going wide. “Penny’s FaceTiming me.”

“Don’t answer,” Harry says, shoving his yarn into the basket at his feet. 

“Of course I’m going to answer,” Louis says, then he drapes his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulls, scooting sideways on the couch and forcing Harry to lie down so his head is in Louis’ lap. Before Harry can sit back up, Louis answers the call, smiling at the screen. “Hi, Penny.”

“Hi, Pop!” 

Turning over until he’s facing Louis’ stomach, it’s easy for Harry to open his mouth and bite the soft flesh below his belly button. Louis jerks and shouts, “Ow, baby! Babe! Penny! Babe! How are you?”

Pushing his face into Louis’ stomach to stifle his laughter, Harry softly kisses the mark he left, and listens as Louis tries to explain away his outburst.

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis says, nervously fixing his hair. “Kicked the coffee table.”

Penelope’s voice comes through the phone speaker, clearly amused, “Kick it harder next time.”

“Oh, I will.” Louis lifts his phone higher with one hand while holding tight to Harry’s hair with the other. When Penny laughs, he smiles, and asks, “Did you call ’cause you missed me or is this about the new season of  _ Queer Eye? _ Because I haven’t had a chance to watch yet.”

“Neither,” Penny says, and Louis pouts at the phone. “Always miss you, Pop. But I have a reason for calling. I actually tried to call Dad too. Was going to ask you guys to Skype with me so I could tell you at the same time.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak, and Louis tugs at his hair, shutting him up. Frowning, Louis asks, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad!” Penny rushes out. “Just, now that you’re both living in Atlanta, I thought—”

“Wait a second,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes at the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me when your dad was planning to move here?”

“I thought you knew,” she says slowly. “Did you not know?”

Louis barks a short laugh. “No! I had no idea until a few weeks ago.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Penny asks, and when Louis shakes his head, she cackles, and Harry can see her in his mind, throwing her head back and laughing at the ceiling. “Wait until Jacob finds out. Honestly, it would serve you right if you wound up as next door neighbors because you don’t talk to each other.”

“I don’t want to live beside your dad,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose as he combs his fingers through Harry’s curls. “That would be weird.”

“Move in with me,” Harry mutters, lips brushing against the hair underneath Louis’ belly button. 

“What was that?” Penny asks, and Louis pulls Harry’s hair again. 

“Nothing! Just the TV. Let me turn it off,” Louis says, letting go of Harry’s hair so he can reach for the remote, pretending to press a button. “There. Done.”

“Okay, but wait… Dad had to know you were in Atlanta. You’ve lived there for years!”

“Nope,” Louis says, and sighs, leaning his head back. “Neither of us knew. But we know now.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Yeah, we’ve… spoken. We’re going to try harder to, um… communicate?”

“That’s great, Pop,” Penny says, and Harry can hear the smile in her voice. “You and Dad should be friends. Then we could all have Christmas together!”

“Are you guys coming for Christmas?” Louis asks excitedly, sitting up straight and jostling Harry in his lap. Harry bites his stomach again, but gently this time. “Is that why you called?”

“Sort of? I got a job offer, and Tara put in for a transfer,” Penny says, and Harry stills. “We’re moving to Atlanta.”

Harry clamps his hand over his mouth, turning his head and looking up at Louis with wide eyes. It was awful when Penelope decided to go to college all the way in Colorado, but Harry dealt with it by telling himself that it was only for four years. And when she graduated and decided to stay in Denver, he made peace with it. After all, she’s an adult, she makes her own life decisions, and he’s proud of her. He just misses her. 

“So are you guys renting an apartment or what?” Louis asks, and Harry tries to pay attention, wiping his eyes and focusing on the conversation. 

“Yeah, renting. At least at first,” she says. “A house, I think.”

“This is great news, Penny. I’m… I’m really happy you’ll be so close.” 

“Thanks, Pop.” Penny blows a loud, smacking kiss through the phone, and Harry watches Louis do the same. “I’m going to try Dad again. But let’s talk soon? I’m serious about Christmas. I want to see if Jacob and Clara and Anna will come down.”

“We’ll see.” Pressing his lips into a thin line, Louis hums, and then says, “Call your dad. It’ll make his day.”

“Okay, Pop,” Penny says, “Love you. Bye!”

“Love you, Penelope. Give my love to Tara,” Louis says, and waits for Penny to hang up the same way he used to when the kids were little. 

Louis tosses his phone onto the couch, and digs his fingertips into Harry’s side, tickling him until Harry can hardly breathe. When he finally lets up, he asks, “Did you really ask me to move in with you?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers, struggling to sit up while hugging himself so Louis can’t tickle him again. 

“My lease is up at the end of the year,” Louis says, pushing Harry against the back of the couch and crawling over him, straddling his lap. “Are you—”

“I’m serious,” Harry says, tipping his head back as he circles his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him close. “I still like the idea of keeping this between us for now, but… We could tell the kids at Christmas.”

“Yeah?” Louis dips down and kisses him, licking into Harry’s waiting mouth. He pulls back, and says, “Penny said she’s calling you. Like right now.”

“Shit,” Harry says, trying to stand with Louis still sitting in his lap. Louis falls over sideways and Harry heads for Louis’ bedroom where his phone is plugged into the charger beside the bed. Probably why he didn’t hear Penny’s call earlier, if she tried his phone before calling Louis. It hurts his heart to tap the button to decline her call, but he can’t very well answer her on FaceTime while standing in Louis’ bedroom. 

He immediately returns the call, holding the phone to his ear as his stomach does flips. It’s nearly impossible to pretend he doesn’t know why she’s calling, but he thinks he does a decent job, even with Louis attempting to bite him the entire time. 

●▬●▬●

In October, Harry has a long weekend, with no classes on Thursday or Friday, and made plans months ago to make the long drive to Raleigh to spend some time with Anna and Jacob and Clara. With Louis’ schedule, it means that Harry will hardly see him that weekend, if at all. Not that he’d give up time with his granddaughter, but he misses Louis so much when he’s gone all week, it’ll be hard to go two weeks without him. 

After Louis flies in Thursday night, he drives over to Harry’s house, and as soon as he eats and showers, he passes out cold in Harry’s bed. In the lamplight, Harry watches his chest rise and fall, taking a moment to soak in his presence before flipping the switch and plunging the room into darkness. He turns on his side, facing away from Louis, but inches his way towards him until his back is pressed to Louis’ side. 

As soon as they touch, Louis stirs and rolls over, pulling Harry to him, and mumbling in his sleep, “Love you.”

Harry smiles in the dark, whispering, “Love you too.”

When Harry sets off the next morning for Raleigh, Louis promises him again that he’ll take good care of Flora while he’s gone, but he also says he can’t guarantee she won’t prefer him over Harry when he comes back on Sunday. 

It’s a six hour drive, not including stops, and Harry arrives at Jacob and Clara’s house around two in the afternoon. While his main reason for coming up that weekend is to hang out with Anna, it’s also Jacob and Clara’s wedding anniversary the following week, and with Anna already approaching two years old, they’ve asked Harry to stay at their house instead of a hotel. It’ll be easier for everyone, because Anna can go to sleep in her own bed, and they can stay out as long as they’d like. Harry assures them he can handle it on his own, but he does have Clara’s parents’ phone numbers in case he needs baby backup. 

Friday evening, they spend in Jacob and Clara’s backyard. Harry runs around in the grass, letting Anna get close enough to catch him before speeding up and taking off, while Jacob and Clara take turns grilling burgers and running away from Anna. 

“Did Penny talk to you about Christmas?” Jacob asks, setting Harry’s plate in front of him. 

“Yeah, she did. I told her your Pop and I will discuss it,” Harry says, hiding a smile behind his burger. 

“Can I add to the discussion?”

“Depends,” Harry says, setting his burger down and reaching for his wine. “I’m still not happy that no one bothered to let me know Louis was living in Atlanta when I told you I was planning to move there.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Jacob asks, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips like Louis does. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says, though it probably would've influenced his decision. He may have decided to stay in Richmond, despite how unhappy he was there. 

“Well, I’m not sorry,” Jacob says. “You guys are at least talking now. You’re friends. And that brings me to my point.”

“Okay, what’s your point, then?”

“Clara and I want to bring Anna for Christmas,” Jacob says, holding up one hand when Harry opens his mouth, gasping excitedly. “Tara and Penny are planning to rent a house, so we’re going to stay with them.”

“But I have—”

“I know you have room at your place, but Pop does too, and we don’t want to choose,” Jacob says, and Harry nods. It makes sense. “Good. So, my actual point is, we want to spend Christmas Day together. All of us. Pop, too.”

“Jacob, I’ll need to talk to your father before I—”

“I know you can’t speak for him, but I'm asking you. Are you willing to spend Christmas with him?”

“Of course!”

“Really?”

“I mean, well, we’ve been friendly?” Harry reaches for his wine, unsure what else to tell. He swallows, and says, “I can’t answer for him, but I think it’d be fine.”

“Good, ’cause we’re not coming otherwise,” Clara adds, handing a burger patty to Anna. 

“You’re not?” Harry asks, frowning at Anna who laughs and breaks her burger in half, offering it to Harry. He shakes his head, and she laughs again, taking a bite and grinning widely with food in her mouth. 

“We don’t want to come down there and haul her all around for Christmas,” Clara says with a shrug. “Too much work.”

“Can we have Christmas at my house?” Harry asks hopefully. 

“As long as it’s okay with Pop,” Jacob says, and Harry hums thoughtfully, wondering how their kids will react when they finally break the news that their dads are back together.

That night, when Harry goes to bed, he puts on his headphones and listens to every voice message Louis left for him over the course of the day. None of them are very long. Usually just a minute or two of Louis telling Harry he loves him, and that he thinks Flora likes the toy he bought her, or that he’s considering bringing his litter box over because it’s nicer and if he’s moving in anyway, he might as well. He leaves a message while walking into the grocery store, and one while walking back to his car. But the longest message he leaves is during dinner, when he sets his phone beside his plate, and talks to Harry about his day, asking questions that Harry can’t answer, telling him how much he misses him and that he can’t wait to see him on Sunday, even if just for a few hours.

When the last message is over, Harry presses record, and speaks as quietly as he can, hoping that his phone will pick up his voice. “Hi, Lou. Miss you. Love you. Yes, you can bring your litter box over, but don’t throw mine out. We had burgers for dinner and I had two glasses of wine, so I’m sleepy, and I got to hold Anna for a long time, even though she’s at the age where she runs full speed ahead until she drops. She fell asleep in my lap, and I think Jacob and Clara felt too guilty to take her away from me, so I got to carry her to bed when my arms got tired,” Harry says, laughing almost silently. “They want us all to have Christmas together. They’re planning to stay with Penny and Tara, and said we can have Christmas at my house if it’s okay with you. Do you think we should tell them about us then? I mean, I think by Christmas, most of your stuff will be at the house. Half of your clothes already are. Tomorrow, they’re leaving sometime in the afternoon, and then they’re going to a concert, so they won’t be home until midnight, probably. Traffic is always horrible after those.” Yawning, Harry shakes his head, then he sighs, and says, “Really miss you. Wish you were here. Or something. I don’t know. I’m tired. Love you. Bye.”

●▬●▬●

While Clara and Jacob are gone, Harry and Anna make mountains of fake food with Play-Doh, and make real cookies from scratch. They absolutely destroy the living room building an enormous fort out of every blanket Harry can find, and Harry reads book after book until she gets bored, then they clean up. But first they pretend to be ghosts and witches and superheroes with the blankets as they take them two by two to the guest bedroom to fold them and put them away. 

They eat macaroni and cheese for dinner because it’s one of the foods that Harry knows Anna will eat, and afterwards, he gives her a bubble bath, piling foam on her head while she giggles and splashes. With a clean diaper and pajamas, Harry carries her out to the living room to dance with her in his arms until she falls asleep. He connects his phone to the speaker, and plays ABBA’s ‘My Love, My Life’ on repeat. 

An hour later, at eight o’clock, when she’s still awake, though thankfully not screaming, there’s a quiet knock on the door, and Harry peeks through the curtains, because he’s not expecting Jacob and Clara for at least another four hours. 

Harry hurries to open the door, flinging it open. “Louis! What in the world?”

“Eh, I was bored,” Louis says, stepping inside and closing the door. He kicks his shoes off, and asks, “How’s my little Anna Banana?”

“You flew in and…” Harry looks out the window again, then says, “Took a cab from the airport? Where are you staying? Here?”

“No, I’ll go back tonight. There’s a flight at like twelve-thirty,” Louis says, leaning in to kiss Anna on the cheek. He pushes up on his toes and plants a kiss on Harry’s lips, then walks over to turn the volume down. “Can I hold her?”

“Yes,” Harry says, carrying Anna to him. “And when she falls asleep immediately, you just be quiet and carry her to her room.”

“Yes, sir,” Louis says, taking Anna and propping her on his hip. 

Harry sits on the couch, watching Louis dance with their granddaughter, slowly twirling in circles, and singing along to the music. Of course, she nods off before the song ends, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Ridiculous,” Harry says, pouting a little. “You were never this good at getting our kids to sleep.”

“She just likes me better,” Louis says, swaying as he walks back towards Anna’s bedroom, with Harry on his heels. He gingerly lays her on her back in her crib, and they tiptoe out of the room. 

Taking Louis’ hand, Harry leads him to the couch. “Can’t believe you flew here.” 

“Missed you. Wanted to see you,” Louis says, laying his hand on Harry’s thigh and squeezing. “Can’t think of a better reason to take advantage of flying for free than coming to see you.”

“I love you,” Harry says.

“Love you, too.” Grinning, Louis leans in for a kiss.

They put on a movie, though Harry doesn’t watch it. He pulls his yarn basket out of the guest room and works on crocheting Anna’s blanket, and when the movie ends, Louis reads the book he bought at the airport. They spend the evening in comfortable silence, until Louis’ phone beeps to remind him that it’s time to leave for the airport. When the cab arrives, Louis kisses Harry at the door, and Harry watches him go. 

An hour later, Jacob and Clara come home, but Harry hardly notices. He hears them come in, which wakes him up enough to check the time on his phone, and see that Louis left him another voice message. He’ll listen in the morning.

●▬●▬●

“This might be weird,” Harry says, checking that Flora has enough water before he leaves. 

“This will definitely be weird,” Louis says, watching from the doorway of Flora’s room, which is how they’ve been referring to the guest bedroom. “Like a spy mission.”

Harry laughs, trying to poke Louis in the ribs. “We’re not spies.”

“No, but we’re driving separately, leaving at different times, and planning to act like we aren’t together, when we are.” 

“We have to pretend we haven’t seen each other in months, Lou,” Harry says, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “Supposedly, the last time I talked to you was a month ago, just to ask about Christmas.”

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s sweatshirt to pull him closer. “Scowl at me more. And don’t call me Lou, ’cause you say it so sweet.”

“Don’t call me baby, then, Louis.”

“One last time before we go, baby,” Louis whispers, circling his arms around Harry’s waist. He tips his chin up, and Harry presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “Love you. See you there.”

“Love you too,” Harry says. “I have to stop for gas, so I’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

Harry follows Louis out of his neighborhood, still grumpy about the idea of hiding their relationship from Penny and Tara. When he arrives, Louis’ car is parked on the street, and a moving truck is backed up to the garage. 

The front door is open, so Harry calls out, “Hello?”

“Dad!” Penny yells, popping out of a hallway into what Harry assumes is the living room. “You’re here!”

“I’m here,” Harry says, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. She hugs him tightly and he kisses her temple. “You want to show me around or just start unloading the truck?”

“Yeah, better show you real quick,” Penny says, leading back down the hall. She points at the open doors as they pass them. “Bathroom. Master bedroom—there’s a small bathroom in there. Guest bedroom number one. Guest bedroom number two. But we’re thinking it’ll be like an office or something.”

“Are the boxes all labeled or do you want to unload everything into the garage and then go from there?” Harry nods back towards the front of the house, and Penny smiles, rolling her eyes.

“That’s what Pop suggested too,” she says, leading him back to the living room. 

“Well, it makes sense,” Harry says, wondering if that counts as complimenting Louis and whether or not he should say anything positive about him at all. 

She takes him through to the kitchen where the door to the garage is, and opens it. “They started without us.”

The garage door and the back of the moving truck are both open. There’s a ramp from the truck bed to the driveway, and Louis and Tara both have their hands full, carrying things into the garage, where there are already a couple of boxes. 

“Finally,” Tara says with a smirk, gesturing at the few things they’ve already unloaded. “Thought we were going to have to do it all without you two.”

“Well, we were very busy,” Harry says, catching Louis’ eye and looking away. “Lots of empty space in there to walk around.”

Louis scoffs and Harry has to stop himself from smiling, so he frowns instead, and Louis says, “Haven’t got all day. Let’s get moving.”

“I don’t know about you,” Harry says, propping his hands on his hips and deepening his scowl, “but the only thing I have planned for today is helping the girls move.”

“I was joking,” Louis says defensively, shaking his head and walking up the ramp.

Climbing up right behind him, Harry grumbles, “Keep your day job.”

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, raising his eyebrows, but then he looks past Harry, and says, “Sorry, girls. We’ll play nice.”

“Oops,” Harry whispers as he walks by Louis to stand on the other side of a low dresser. 

“Hi,” Louis whispers back, pursing his lips to blow Harry a kiss. He raises his voice and says, “Lift with your legs, Harry.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry squats down and gets a good grip on the dresser, standing up with his end before Louis can get a hold on his side. “I am. Don’t know what you’re doing over there though.”

With a grunt, Louis lifts his end and starts backing up towards the ramp, just as Tara and Penny step off into the truck. They move aside, and Tara grabs the closest box, jumping down out of the truck with it. 

“That dresser goes in the master bedroom,” Penny says, following them down the ramp with a dining room chair. “If you want to take it through the front door and go ahead and put it in there.”

“Sure,” Harry says, and Louis nods. 

They carry the dresser through the front door without banging it on the door jamb and it’s a straight shot down the hall into the master bedroom, where they set it against the wall. 

“Sorry,” Louis says quietly, looking back down the hall behind Harry. 

“What for?” Harry asks, peeking out of the room to check that they’re alone. 

“Your comment about the day job thing,” Louis says, moving to the other side of the room near the small master bath. “Know you hate my job.”

“Lou, I don’t…” Harry makes sure they’re alone again before crossing the room to cradle Louis’ face in his hands, and kiss him softly twice. “I don’t hate your job. I hate missing you, but that’s life. I was just trying to… I don’t know… bicker? Like the kids expect?”

Louis rests his hands on Harry’s hips and nudges their noses together. “Okay. Sorry I misunderstood.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry says, dipping down to press a quick kiss to the side of Louis’ neck. “We’re talking about it, which is an improvement, right?”

“True,” Louis says, pushing Harry away and ducking into the bathroom. He yells out, “Harry, there  _ is so _ a bathroom in here!”

“Wha—” Harry whips his head around when he sees Penny in his peripheral vision with a lamp in her hand. “Oh, fine. You’re right.”

Stepping back into the bedroom, Louis nods once and says, “What’s next?”

Penny puts the lamp on top of the dresser, and leads the way back to the garage. “Let’s do what you both suggested and unload everything into the garage first.”

“Both suggested? That was my idea,” Louis says, and since Harry’s bringing up the rear as they walk through the kitchen, he pinches Louis’ bum. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to step on your shoe.” Harry stifles a giggle, then says, “I said the same to Penny when I first got here.”

“Great minds,” Louis says, humming while he glares back at Harry. 

“Come on, Pop,” Penny says, taking Louis’ arm, and pulling him to the truck. “Dad didn’t mean to step on your shoe.”

“Completely on accident,” Harry says, walking up the ramp behind them. 

They manage to behave themselves while unloading the rest of Penny and Tara’s things from the truck, and once the truck is empty, they move the large things first, splitting the jobs so that one of them helps Penny while the other helps Tara. It’s much easier to ignore Louis’ presence when he’s in another part of the house rather than try to act the way he thinks he might’ve acted before. And it doesn’t take them long to finish. The newlyweds don’t have a lot of furniture despite living together for the past few years. 

After they’re done, and they’re standing in the kitchen drinking warm Gatorade, Penny looks from Harry to Louis and says, “The U-Haul place isn’t far, so would you be okay to stay here and wait for the pizza while we take the truck back?” 

“I think we’ll survive,” Louis says, tipping back his bottle of red Gatorade and gulping it. 

“Promise not to murder your father,” Harry says, glancing over at Louis who licks the Gatorade from his lips. Smiling sweetly, Harry adds, “Today.”

“Thanks!” Penny grabs the keys off the kitchen counter, and Tara trails behind her to the door. 

Harry peers through the window as Penny pulls away with the truck and Tara follows in her car. The second they’re out of sight, Harry’s entire body relaxes and he closes his eyes. 

“This is exhausting,” Harry says, turning away from the window to find Louis standing behind him. “I don’t like pretending not to love you.”

“Baby,” Louis says, holding his arms opens wide for Harry who wraps his arms around him, burying his face in Louis’ neck. “If you want, we can tell them when they get back.”

Harry shakes his head, lips brushing against Louis’ skin as he says, “No, but maybe we should spend time with Penny separately until Christmas.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Louis says, scratching Harry's scalp. “Maybe I’ll get Penny to help me do my Christmas shopping.”

“Don’t buy me anything,” Harry warns, even though they’ve already agreed not to exchange gifts. 

“I’m not,” Louis says, quickly backing away from Harry. “Shit. Pizza’s here.”

“You’re jumpy,” Harry says, opening the door. 

Tara and Penny return soon after the pizza arrives, and Harry thinks he does a decent job pretending to try to get along with Louis until it’s time to go home. He leaves first, using Flora as an excuse, and Louis leaves soon enough after him that he pulls into Harry’s driveway while Harry's unlocking the door. 

“I’m still nervous,” Louis says, looking around while Harry opens the door. As soon as they’re inside, he closes the curtains and locks the door. 

“Should we turn off the lights and crawl on the floor in case they see two shadows from the street?” Harry asks, hoping to ease Louis’ anxiety, but he actually seems to mull it over before shaking his head. 

Hopefully Penny and Tara will be too busy unpacking their own things to notice Louis slowly moving into Harry’s house. Just to be sure, Louis starts parking in the garage.

●▬●▬●

Louis flies on Thanksgiving, which he doesn’t normally do, preferring to spend that holiday with the kids since he usually flies on Christmas, and Harry goes over to Tara and Penny’s house, since his house is slowly filling up with Louis’ possessions. Even before they officially started moving things from Louis’ apartment, it was obvious that he spent a lot of time there. The first time Harry invited the girls over to his house for dinner, he wound up spending hours prior to their arrival hiding evidence of Louis’ presence, only for Penny to open the fridge and say, “Stella? Pop loves this beer.” 

Harry claimed he had no idea and then forced himself to drink one with their meal. It was awful. He hates beer.

With Jacob, Clara, and Anna in town, and Louis off on Christmas Eve for the first time in years, of course the kids want to spend his birthday with him. The only problem with that plan is that Louis’ apartment is virtually empty. Even his bed is now in the guest room at Harry’s house. Flora loves it. 

The morning of Louis’ birthday, he leaves early to meet the kids for breakfast, but makes sure to kiss Harry thoroughly before he goes. 

“I don’t know what they have planned,” Louis says, pressing his lips to Harry’s scruffy cheek. “I’m just along for the ride. And I know they’re our kids and we love them, but I really want to spend at least part of the day with you.”

“Well…” Harry tugs on Louis’ scarf and says, “Be careful about ditching our children. I’ll be here though. I’ve got some things to do so we’re ready for tomorrow morning.”

Louis sighs, kissing Harry one more time. “Miss you, baby.”

“Love you, Lou,” Harry whispers against his lips. Thinking of the gift he’s planning to give Louis tonight, he hums, and says, “Happy birthday.”

In the late afternoon, when Harry's finished preparing for Christmas morning, and resigned himself to spending the entire day with only Flora for company, his phone rings. An hour later, he parks his car near the ice skating rink, and nervously joins the rest of his family. 

“Sorry about this,” Louis says when the kids are out of sight. 

“Don’t apologize. I feel like I should probably—”

“Pop! Dad!” Jacob shouts over the noise, waving at them with both hands. “Come on!”

It’s just as crowded as it was the previous Christmas Eve, which Harry was ready to tell Louis about before they were interrupted. But he can explain his slight discomfort later. They take to the ice, and Louis skates ahead to join Tara and Penny. At not quite two years old, Anna isn’t interested in ice skates, and they’ve all agreed to take turns with her at the playground beside the rink. 

“Thanks for coming, Dad,” Jacob says, spinning around to skate backwards in front of Harry. “Know it’s kinda weird being Pop’s birthday, but since it’s all of us…”

“It’s not that weird.” Harry twirls his finger in the air, signaling for Jacob to turn back around. Once he does and they’re side by side again, Harry says, “I’m glad you called. I was bored.”

“Did you wish Pop a happy birthday?” Jacob asks, nodding at Louis who’s still ahead of them, showing off on the ice. If he falls, Harry’ll have to deal with his whining all night. Though he’ll probably be sore from skating and whine all night anyway. 

“Not yet,” Harry lies, counting up the number of times he’s wished Louis a happy birthday since they woke up that morning. “I’ll tell him later.”

Laughing, Jacob points at Louis and Penny trying to teach Tara how to skate backwards. At least she knows how to fall properly. He nudges Harry’s arm and says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Pop might be seeing someone.”

Jealousy flares in Harry, but then he bites his lip, trying to decide how to respond. In the past, he might’ve rolled his eyes or scoffed dismissively. Instead, he says, “That’s good. He deserves to be happy.”

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Harry says. “Your father and I might’ve had our issues, but we’re adults. We can wish good things for each other.”

“Wait,” Jacob says slowly, looking over at Harry as they go around the curve at the end of the rink. “Are you seeing someone too?”

“Maybe,” Harry answers. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Alright, alright,” Jacob says, shaking his head. He skates a little faster, but Harry hangs back. 

Gliding along the edge of the rink, Harry checks behind him before attempting to turn around and skate backwards. This time he doesn’t stumble, smiling to himself at his success, but wishing Louis was there to make fun of his technique. 

“Harry?”

Harry’s eyes go wide at the familiar voice, but he keeps his balance, glancing over at Paul. “Hello,” Harry says, waving as he goes.

“Are you here with someone?” Paul asks, keeping an easy pace beside him.

“My family,” Harry says, counting to three in his head and spinning back around to skate forward. To be polite, he asks, “You?”

“No, I’m here alone,” Paul says with a quiet laugh. “Figured I’d try again, you know. Skating last Christmas Eve worked out okay for me.”

Harry chuckles, looking across the ice at Louis. “Seems like a good plan.”

“Might be,” Paul says, moving a little closer to Harry’s side. “Feels a little like fate, meeting you here again.”

“Oh…” Harry stares straight ahead. Things didn’t end horribly between them, but the time they spent together certainly didn’t feel fateful, and when Harry broke things off, he told Paul that they could stay friends. But Paul hadn't been too keen on the idea. “I’m not so sure—”

“Oops!” Louis says, speeding past and turning around to skate backwards directly in front of them, smiling and winking at Harry.

“Hi, um…” Harry grins at Louis’ sudden appearance, then grimaces, unsure of how to introduce Louis to Paul.

“I’m Paul,” Paul says, relieving Harry of the responsibility. “And you are?”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis introduces himself, offering his hand. When Paul takes it, narrowing his eyes and shaking it, Louis says, “I’m Harry’s husband. Who are you?”

“Husband?” Paul asks, looking at Harry in disbelief, but all Harry can do is shrug. He’s not about to get into the nitty gritty of it. “Right. Well, I was just saying hello to Harry. We used to… know each other. Intimately.”

Harry’s mouth falls open and Paul skates away, crossing the rink to the other side. Scrambling to explain, Harry says, “Obviously, that was Paul, from before, you know, not—”

_ “Intimately?” _ Louis asks, pursing his lips.

Sighing, Harry starts, “Right. So when Paul—”

“I don’t want to know details,” Louis snaps. 

“I wasn’t going to give you details. I was trying to explain. Never mind,” Harry says, dismissing Louis with a wave of his hand, and skating over to Jacob. It’s the perfect time to take his turn with Anna. 

Harry returns his skates and finds Clara on the playground, sending her in to join everyone else, and let them know that no one else needs to take a break to watch Anna unless they absolutely want to. 

“Anna Banana!” Harry says, standing at the bottom of the slide and trying to persuade her to come down feet first this time. “Slide down to Grandpa! Wheeee!” 

Giggling, she shakes her head, and the little tassels on her hat swing back and forth. She yells, “Pop!”

“Not Pop. Grandpa,” Harry corrects her, clapping his hands and wiggling his fingers at her. 

“Pop!” Anna yells louder, pointing at Harry, and he frowns. 

“Hey,” Louis says quietly, but Harry still flinches, expecting an argument, though Louis doesn’t seem angry. Rather than stand the way he usually does when he’s annoyed—arms crossed and feet spread wide—Louis’ hands are in his coat pockets and he almost looks sad, but he smiles, squatting down at the bottom of the slide and calling up to Anna, “Pop!”

“Pop!” she yells again, and drops onto her bum to slide down into Louis’ waiting arms. He kisses the top of her head and sets her on the ground, watching closely as she makes her way back up the steps. 

“Sorry,” Louis says, joining Harry again to wait for Anna to slide down. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

“You shouldn't have,” Harry agrees with a nod. 

“I don’t like that you have ex-boyfriends,” Louis says, and Harry raises his eyebrows, checking around to make sure the kids are still on the rink and haven’t snuck up behind them. 

“Paul was never my boyfriend,” Harry says, waving at Anna, who’s decided to go down the slide feet first, but on her belly this time. “Not that it should matter either way.”

“It shouldn’t,” Louis says, picking Anna up and holding her in the air over his head to make her squeal before setting her down again. “I was jealous.”

“Obviously.”

“I shouldn’t be jealous,” Louis says, and Harry hums his agreement. “Clearly I’m the better ice skater.”

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. “I met him here. Last Christmas Eve. He said he thought it was fate that we met again today.”

“Fate,” Louis scoffs. He takes a few steps closer to the slide, whispering to Anna, who slides down on her bum again. This time, Louis picks her up and carries her over to the swing, and Harry follows, helping get her feet through the little leg holes. 

“She’s getting too big for the baby swings,” Harry says, straightening her hat and stepping back so Louis can push her. 

“What were you doing here on Christmas Eve last year?” Louis asks.

“Keeping myself busy,” Harry admits. “Trying not to think about you. At the time, I thought you were still with, um… Alex, and I was worried about showing up to Penny and Tara’s wedding without a date.”

“Were you really?” 

“Yes,” Harry says, though he thought his bitterness about their relationship was apparent at the time. “You’re not the only one who gets jealous, you know.”

“I know,” Louis says, then adds in a whisper, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Harry whispers back. 

“Pop!” Anna shouts, cackling and reaching for Louis, who grabs her out of the swing and holds her on his hip.

They spend the rest of the evening with Anna on the playground, making sure not to touch or stand too close, just in case someone sees. And they survive dinner together with everyone by sitting on opposite ends of the table. When Anna starts to get fussy and tired, they all take it as a sign to call it a night, and say their goodbyes. 

Harry hurries home, wanting to get there first to feed Flora, hop in the shower, and prepare Louis’ birthday present, all of which he manages to do in plenty of time. When he hears Louis—calling for Flora instead of for him—he’s already dried off, standing in the bedroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Hey, baby,” Louis says, setting Flora down in the hallway. “What’re you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” Harry says plainly, though his entire body feels shaky and warm. “I, um… I did something. Got something. For you?”

“Sure about that?” Louis asks with a laugh.

“Yeah, um… I… Maybe I should’ve talked to you about it first, but I…”

“Are you okay?” Louis steps closer, rubbing his hands over Harry’s bare arms.

Nodding quickly, Harry says, “I think I should just show you? It’s not… I was excited to surprise you. Didn’t think, really. And now I’m…” 

“You’re?”

Dropping his towel, Harry’s hand goes straight to his dick, squeezing the base. He’s been hard since the shower, and is finding it difficult to put words together, which he hadn't expected. Since he can’t explain, he crawls onto the bed, positioning himself in the middle of the mattress on his hands and knees.

“That’s, um… Is that a plug?” Louis asks from behind him, and Harry drops his head down to look at him from between his legs. 

“Yeah, I…” Suddenly more aware of it’s unforgiving presence inside him, Harry clenches around it and bites back a moan. “Happy birthday?”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, and though Harry can’t see everything, he knows the sounds of Louis rushing to take his clothes off. 

“Wanted to be ready. Bought it for you,” Harry says. It was all he could think about on the way home. He’s lucky he didn’t cause an accident. 

Louis climbs onto the bed behind him, settling between Harry’s legs and caressing his thighs. “You don’t want my fingers?”

“If you want, but…” Harry looks back over his shoulder, meeting Louis’ eyes. “Just want you.”

Spreading Harry’s cheeks apart, Louis presses on the plug with his thumbs, and Harry whines, then Louis grips it and slowly pulls it free. He slides two fingers inside, and curves them, searching for Harry’s prostate. When he finds it, he rubs circles over it until Harry’s body trembles and his arms give out. 

“Want you on your back, baby,” Louis says, helping him roll over. He leans over Harry, combing his hair back off his forehead, and scratching his scalp. Softly, he kisses Harry’s eyelids, and between his eyebrows, and Harry blinks up at him, watching him sit back. He taps Harry’s hip. “Lift up.”

With a pillow under Harry’s bum, Louis leans forward, looming over him, and dropping a kiss on Harry’s parted lips. 

“Love you,” Louis says.

“Love you,” Harry says, reaching between their bodies for Louis’ dick, but Louis shakes his head, and Harry stops, letting his arms fall at his sides. 

“Let me,” Louis says, and Harry nods. Even with the plug and his fingers before that, the initial stretch as Louis pushes past his rim takes Harry’s breath away, and he holds tight to Louis’ arms. But as soon as Louis is fully inside him, any discomfort fades away.

Like he’s moving in slow motion, Louis shifts his hips back, then forward, filling Harry again and again, stopping every so often when he’s deep inside to grind against Harry’s bum. Louis makes love to him, sucking kisses along the curve Harry’s shoulder, over his Adam’s apple, and licking into his waiting mouth. 

With his fingers wrapped around Harry’s dick, Louis coaxes Harry’s orgasm out of him. It’s a gradual release of pressure, and when it’s over, Harry’s completely spent. Louis pulls out, and Harry tries to focus on the blur of his hand moving over his cock. He comes on Harry’s stomach, and it’s warm, so Harry dips his fingers in the mess, swirling it around his belly button. 

Smiling, Harry says, “Thanks, Lou.”

Louis huffs a laugh through his nose and bends down to kiss each of Harry’s nipples in turn. “Welcome, baby. Let me clean you up.”

“No… Stay,” Harry says, catching Louis with his legs and pulling him down.

“Baby, you’re gross,” Louis says, holding himself a few inches away from Harry’s stomach and looking between them. “And the bathroom’s right there.”

Letting his head loll to the side, Harry glares at the bathroom door. “Hurry back.”

“Watch me,” Louis says, climbing off the bed and dragging his fingers over Harry’s forearm. He steps into the bathroom, but Harry can still see him standing by the sink, and he comes back a moment later to wipe Harry clean. When he finishes, he doesn’t even go back to get rid of the washcloth, just turns and tosses it into the sink from where he is. 

They crawl beneath the blankets, and Louis turns off the lamp, cuddling up to his side. 

“Happy birthday to me,” Louis says, laughing almost silently, breath hot on Harry’s skin.

“Happy birthday to you,” Harry says. “’Night.” 

“’Night, baby. Love you. See you in the morning,” Louis says, and Harry means to respond, but he falls asleep. 

●▬●▬●

Harry groans, stretching his legs and lifting his head. 

“You slept late,” Louis says, and Harry turns to look at him.

“Time is it?” 

“Nine-thirty,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “I started the breakfast casserole or whatever it’s called. Didn’t want to wake you. You were dead to the world.”

Sighing, Harry pushes himself up and kneels on the mattress. “Guess I should shower. Big day.”

“Should be fun though,” Louis says, watching Harry stand and stretch. “Anything else I need to do while you’re getting ready?”

“Coffee?”

“Done.”

“Flora?”

“She’s eating now.”

“I love you,” Harry says, bending down to place a chaste kiss on Louis’ lips. 

“Love you, too,” Louis says . “Now, hurry up and shower before the kids get here.”

“Actually, I want to give you something,” Harry says, opening the top drawer of his dresser. He sits on the edge of the bed, uncurling his fingers so Louis can see their wedding rings. “I had them cleaned and polished.”

“Forgot they were so shiny,” Louis says, plucking his from Harry’s palm. 

Harry slides his on, holding his hand out to admire it. “Kind of don’t want to take it off.”

“So don’t,” Louis says as he puts his on too. 

“Not yet,” Harry says, wiggling his ring back off and waiting while Louis removes his as well. He sets them on the bedside table instead of putting them back in their hiding place, and heads for the shower.

●▬●▬●

Thankfully, with the kids all staying together, they arrive at the same time. No one seems surprised to see Louis, but then again, he’s supposed to be there. Once everyone is out of their coats and hats, Harry carries them all to the bedroom and tosses them on the bed, taking a deep breath before joining them all in the living room. 

“That’s a cool necklace,” Louis says, and Penny holds the charm out for him to see. 

“Dad got it for me when he was in Italy,” Penny says.

“Oh, that’s right,” Louis says with a fond smile. “When we went to— I mean, he went to Florence.”

“Yeah,” Penny says, furrowing her brow. “He said he bought it in Florence.”

Louis stands from the couch, and walks towards Harry in the kitchen, eyes wide at his obvious slip, and Harry fights to contain his grin, wrinkling his nose and pressing his lips together. 

“Actually,” Louis announces, standing at the counter between the kitchen and living room. “I have some news.”

They said they’d wait to tell the kids after breakfast, so Harry frowns at Louis’ back, clearing his throat and trying to catch his attention, but Louis ignores him. 

“Starting in January, I’m going to be flying regionally,” Louis says.

“Wha—”

“It’s been fun, but the hours are, um… for younger people.” Louis chuckles into his fist, and says, “And I’m a bit tired of hotel beds, to be honest. It’ll be nice to be home every night.”

“Lou…” Harry covers his mouth with his hand, eyes darting around the room. He blinks rapidly, trying to will the tears away, but it’s no use. 

“Dad?” Jacob sits up straight, looking into the kitchen. 

“Shit,” Louis mutters, shaking his head. He finally turns around and hurries to the kitchen, whispering, “Are you upset?”

Harry shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“Should I have waited?” Louis asks, keeping his voice low, but Harry shakes his head again. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, I’m surprised,” Harry says with a watery laugh. He playfully smacks Louis’ arm. “No point in waiting. You might as well tell them now.”

“Okay, so… I’ve got another announcement,” Louis says, speaking up. When everyone’s quiet and looking their way, he elbows Harry in the ribs. “You tell them.”

“I can’t,” Harry complains, wiping his eyes, though his tears continue to fall.

“I thought you might like to,” Louis says with a shrug.

“Oh my God, Louis,” Harry grumbles. “You do it.” 

“Sorry! Okay, I’ll do it.” Reaching for Harry’s hand, Louis raises his voice, and says, “Your dad and I got married. Last month.”

The room goes absolutely silent, but then Anna squeals, making Harry cackle. When he catches his breath, he says, “You should see all your faces right now.”

“Is this a joke?” Penny asks, glowering at them. “Because it’s not funny.”

“No, sorry,” Harry says, still giggling. He turns to hide his face in Louis’ shoulder, and Louis wraps his arms around him.

“We, um… Well, we won’t get into the details, but we reconnected earlier this year,” Louis says, then quieter, he asks Harry, “Is that what we did?” Harry pinches Louis’ hip, and Louis jerks away from the touch, but doesn’t let go of Harry completely. 

“You got remarried?” Jacob asks, setting Anna on the floor and letting her play with the toy train under the Christmas tree. 

“Actually, we—” Louis starts, and Harry pinches him harder. He corrects himself, and says,  _ “Legally, _ we weren’t married before. So technically, this is the first marriage for both of us.”

“This is wild,” Tara says, leaning back in her chair and looking from Penny to Jacob. 

“Why didn’t you invite us?” Penny asks. 

Harry speaks up and says, “It was a spur of the moment decision.”

They explain a little more about their courthouse marriage, and in a roundabout way, they tell the kids that it seemed like fate kept bringing them together, but without any of the details. After coffee and mimosas, they open their gifts, and the highlight of the morning is when Anna opens the blanket that Harry made for her, and immediately drapes it around her shoulders, climbs into his lap, and gives him a kiss on his forehead. 

The oven timer goes off, and Louis says, “Brunch!” But before he opens the oven door, he fishes their rings out of his pocket, passing Harry’s to him. “Married again?”

“Married always,” Harry says, looking at their matching bands.

●▬●▬●

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Tumblr post for reblogging :D](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/621294868303577088/someone-to-fly-home-to-by-kingsofeverything)
> 
> [Tweet for retweeting :D](https://twitter.com/kingsofthings/status/1273736125077749765?s=21)


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